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MEMORIES 

SOME  OF  MANY 


BY 

ANNIE  V.  FINN 


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GIFT  OF 
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MEMORIES 

SOME  OF  MANY 

By 

ANNIE  V.  FINN 

H.  S.  HOWARD 
PUBLISHER  AND  PRINTER 

BERKELEY.  CALIFORNIA 
1920 

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TO  YOU 

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BELOVED 


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JOHN  FOWLER  FINN 

(July  4,  x83«3-~January  i,  1913) 

The  judiciary  of  San  Francisco  was  honored,  and  the  social  and  political 
life  of  the  city  was  enriched,  during  the  decade  of  1870  and  1880,  by  the 
notable  and  manly  citizen  who  has  lately  passed  away.  Judge  John  F.  Finn 
died  at  Pasadena,  California,  on  New  Year's  Day,  1913,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
three.  His  father,  Lawrence  Finn,  was  a  New  York  merchant,  of  Irish 
descent,  whose  place  of  business  was  where  the  Equitable  Building  on  Broad- 
way now  stands.  His  mother  was  of  English  birth  and  belonged  to  an  old 
and  honorable  family  of  Somersetshire.  His  father  had  large  interests  in  the 
"West  Indies  and  in  the  summer  of  1839  was,  with  his  family,  in  Cuba,  and 
John  was  born  there.  The  son's  early  education  was  in  Brooklyn,  New  York, 
where  was  situate  the  family  home. 

In  1852  the  father  died,  embarrassed  in  estate,  and  thereafter  the  son 
was  compelled  to  rely  upon  his  own  exertions.  While  still  very  young  he 
had  attained  an  important  place  in  a  mercantile  house  in  New  York,  but  he 
had  such  strong  desires  for  the  legal  profession,  in  which  he  was  encouraged 
by  his  employers,  who  recognized  his  talent,  that  he  early  began  the  study  of 
law,  completing  his  education  therein  by  graduating  from  the  Law  Depart- 
ment of  Harvard  College  with  the  class  of  1860,  Thereafter  he  practiced  his 
profession  in  New  York  City,  in  the  ofifice  of  Niles  &  Bagley,  one  of  the 
leading  firms  of  lawyers  of  that  city.  Soon  after  establishing  himself  he  was 
married  to  a  daughter  of  a  family  whose  ancestors  settled  in  the  Mohawk 
Valley  in  1638.  His  descendants  have  ever  since  lived,  and  still  reside,  in 
the  ancestral  homestead.  A  more  ideal  relation  of  husband  and  wife  that 
began  with  this  marriage  I  have  never  seen. 

In  1864,  and  shortly  after  his  marriage,  he  joined  his  sister  and  brother  in 
Virginia  City,  Nevada,  and  practiced  his  profession  there  for  a  year.  In  1865 
his  wife  joined  him  in  San  Francisco,  where  he  became  connected  with  the^ 
late  Judge  E.  D.  Wheeler.  He  made  a  specialty  of  probate  practice  and  it 
brought  him  such  a  handsome  income  that  early  in  1870  he  considered  him- 
self justified  in  taking  a  vacation.  With  his  wife  he  traveled  in  Europe 
and  the  Eastern  states  for  a  year  and  a  half.  Returning  to  San  Francisco  he 
resumed  practice  and  became  well  known  as  an  honorable,  able,  and  high 
minded  lawyer  and  good  citizen. 

When  the  new  Constitution  was  adopted  in  1879  it  did  away  with  the 
old  District  Courts  and  provided  for  a  Superior  Court  with  twelve  judges  for 
San  Francisco.  The  manner  of  the  election  at  one  time  of  twelve  judges 
aroused  great  interest  in  the  city.    A  general  meeting  of  the  bar  was  called 


iiiiiiiiiininiiiiHiiiiiniHiiiiiiiiinitMiiMiiiinninmiuiniiuninniiuiiuiiuiiiiiiiniuuinniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiHiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiumiuiiminiiiiiiiiiiin 

for  the  purpose  of  recommending  for  the  people  candidates  for  the  ofHce  of 
judges  of  the  new  court.  After  some  discussion  it  was  decided  that  each 
law^^^r  prQsjjrLt '  sihpuld  vote  for  twelve  and  that  the  voting  should  be  by 
ballot'.  Judge  "William  P.  Daingerfield,  a  most  popular  judge,  and  then  in- 
jciiyiibent'  of  the  Twelfth  District  Court,  received  the  highest  number  of  votes, 
'but  next  to  him  came'  John  F.  Finn.  Both  were  elected  by  a  very  large 
popular  vote.  The  judges  had  to  draw  lots  for  terms  and  Judge  Finn  drew 
the  short  term  of  one  year.  In  1880  he  was  re-elected  for  the  full  term,  and 
again  in  1886,  by  large  majorities.  He  served  continuously  for  thirteen 
years,  but  when  his  third  term  expired  his  health  was  not  good  and  he 
declined  re-election.  Since  then  he  continued  to  regard  San  Francisco  as 
his  home,  but  spent  most  of  his  time  abroad.  A  ripe  scholar,  a  student  of 
history,  a  connoisseur  in  art  and  music,  but  above  all  a  reader  and  lover  of 
poetry,  his  resources  of  enjoyment  were  unusually  large,  while  delicate 
health  made  the  turmoil  and  stress  of  active  life  distasteful.  For  that  reason, 
although  keeping  up  the  liveliest  interest  in  San  Francisco  and  her  people  and 
retaining  his  citizenship  therein,  he  did  not  return  to  active  work. 

The  late  Judge  J.  V.  Coffey  was  an  associate  of  his  on  the  bench  and 
when  Judge  Finn  declined  re-election  Judge  Coffey  became  his  successor  in 
the  probate  department  of  the  Superior  Court.  Speaking  in  open  court  of 
the  loss  he  personally  felt  in  the  departure  of  his  longtime  friend  and  asso- 
ciate, Judge  Coffey  said :  "I  wish  that  I  might  write  in  imperishable  marble 
my  opinion  of  Judge  Finn.  His  merits  entitle  him  particularly  in  this 
tribunal  to  a  perpetual  memorial." 

The  same  Judge,  on  another  occasion  said:  "I  have  said  many  times 
that  Judge  Finn's  retirement  from  the  Bench  was  a  distinct  loss  to  the  public 
service.  His  dignity  of  demeanor,  candor,  frankness,  and  sincerity,  added  to 
special  learning  and  natural  ability;  his  sympathetic  consideration  for  those 
in  distress,  balanced  by  an  innate  sense  of  equity,  made  him  an  ideal  Judge. 
For  more  than  two  score  years  I  had  been  observant  of  these  traits,  which 
compelled  the  respect  of  all  who  knew  him.  Prior  to  his  transfer  from  the 
bar  to  the  bench,  I  had  had  occasion  to  note  the  qualities  in  him  that  after- 
wards in  judicial  association  for  years  were  illustrated  in  his  conduct  as  a 
man  devoted  to  duty  and  fearless  in  its  discharge;  seeking  truth  for  its  sake 
alone,  and  anxious  only  that  justice  might  be  done,  and  yet  always  that  it 
be  tempered  with  mercy  and  apostolic  charity. 

"I  have  often  had  occasion  to  regret  that  Judge  Finn  had  not  remained 
in  the  position  that  he  so  eminently  adorned  and  for  which  he  was  so  ade- 
quately equipped  by  temperament  and  by  education,  and  all  of  his  brethren 
who  served  with  him  and  who  survive  concur  with  me. 

"Before  the  Fire  of  1906  I  had  in  the  Court  House  framed  a  group  of 
the  Judges  who  preceded  me  in  probate,  all  men  worthy  of  admiration: 
Judges  Blake,  Wright,  Myrick  and  Finn.    I  should  like  to  have  those  pictures 


amimmiiiiiiimmiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiimmiiiiiiiiMnnMiunnininiiinuiniiiiiiiiiiiimnininuniniiinniiiuiiiiitiiinniniinuniiiiiininniinniiiniiniiiniinitiiiirmiiiiiiM 

restored  as  a  reminder  to  the  younger  generation  of  those  who  in  their  time 
have  done  so  much  for  the  profession  and  the  community,  none  more  so  than 
the  Honorable  John  F.  Finn,  whose  memory  I  shall  ever  cherish  as  that  of  a 
good  citizen,  an  honest  lawyer,  and  a  Judge  without  stain  and  without 
reproach." 

Another  associate  of  Judge  Finn,  namely,  Judge  John  Hunt,  who  has 
been  a  Judge  of  the  Superior  Court  since  its  organization,  paid  a  tribute  in 
open  court  to  his  deceased  friend,  saying:  *']udge  Finn  was  not  only  a  well 
read  lawyer,  but  he  was  also  a  ripe  scholar.  His  delicate  health  made 
necessary  his  retirement  from  the  stress  of  active  professional  life,  but  he 
delighted  in  the  pursuit  of  literature  and  thus  agreeably  occupied  the  time 
spent  in  retirement.  He  was  a  man  of  engaging  manners,  of  untiring 
industry,  and  of  legal  ability.  While  upon  the  bench  he  was  engaged  in  the 
trial  of  many  important  cases,  and  his  judicial  learning,  probity  of  character 
and  kindly  manner  endeared  him  to  all  who  knew  him.  He  was  a  lovable 
man,  a  generous  man,  generous  without  ostentation,  but  to  his  compassion 
no  needy  hand  was  ever  extended  in  vain.  He  had  a  heart  open  as  day  for 
melting  charity.  He  was  gifted  with  a  fine  sense  of  humor ;  not  the  humor  the 
shafts  of  which  are  barbed  with  malice,  but  a  generous,  genial  and  kindly 
humor,  which  found  expression  in  brilliant  repartee.  He  was  the  gentlest 
of  men;  cheerful,  courteous,  brave  and  self-reliant." 

To  those  of  us  who  lived  and  worked  in  San  Francisco  during  the  time 
that  Judge  Finn  honored  us  with  his  presence  and  friendship  his  departure 
is  an  irreparable  loss.  WARREN  OLNEY. 


FROM  A  PAINTING 
AT  TWO  YEARS  OF  AGE 


miiiiiiiiiiiiniiniriiiHiiiiitniiiiiiminiiitiiiiHiiimiiHinniiniiirniinHinmiiiiiMiuiiHimiumiiiiiiiMiiiiiuiHmiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiuHiiiiinnmiittiiiiniiiimiiiiiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiininuiiiMMiniutuiiiHinimiuiuHiiiitiiMiniiiiiiiiiniriMiiiuiimiiiiiiiiiiiitwiiiiHiuiuiHiuiiiiiniiiiiiHriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiuniiiuiiiimiiiuiiuniuiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiii^ 

January,  1914. 
PART  ONE 

UTTERLY  cast  down  and  full  of  "the  wild  unrest  that  lives  in 
woe,"  looking  down  a  vista  of  years  to  come,  unlighted  hy  the 
lamp  of  love  that  had  burned  so  brightly  for  me  in  the  past, 
unspeakably  lonely  though  with  those  who  were  near  and  dear  to  me, 
and  to  whom  I  was  near  and  dear,  I  sat  brooding,  disconsolate  and 
full    of    despair. 

I  took  up  a  book  and  opened  it  by  chance  at  the  letter  Alexander 
Dumas  fQs  wrote  to  his  Father  after  that  Father  had  passed  away 
from  this  World. 

"My  Dear  Father: 

"In  the  World  to  which  you  are  gone,  does  memory  survive 
and  retain  a  recollection  of  things  here  below?  Or  does  a  second 
and  eternal  life  exist  only  in  our  imagination?  Is  memory 
vouchsafed  only  to  those  who  remain  on  Earth?  Or  is  it  true 
that  the  bond  of  love  which  has  united  two  souls  in  this  World 
is  an  indestructible  tie,  not  to  be  severed  even  by  death? 

"Wherefore  then  not  knowing  where  you  you  are,  do  I  in- 
dite this  letter  to  you?  It  is  because  when  we  have  lost  those  we 
love,  although  they  are  gone  from  the  place  that  knew  them, 
they  are  still  and  always  with  us.  It  is  therefore  to  what  is  ever 
with  me,  within  me,  that  I  address  this  remembrance  and  this 
homage  which  will  assuredly  reach  you  wherever  you  are." 

I  had  often  read  the  beautiful  letter,  and  now  in  my  sorrow  and 
loss  it  held  for  me  a  deeper  meaning  in  that  it  expressed  so  much  of 
my  own  thought  and  feeling  and  put  into  my  mind  the  idea  of 
writing  this  book. 

And  why  should  I  not  address  "remembrance  and  homage"  to 
you,  my  Beloved?  There  is  comfort  in  the  very  thought  and  mayhap 
the  work  will  lighten  my  heavy  hours. 

"Remembrance  and  homage,"  my  heart  and  soul  are  full  of 
it !  If  I  could  but  give  expression  to  the  homage  I  feel  in  words  that 
are  worthy!  If  I  could  but  present  in  fitting  form  some  of  the 
wealth  of  my  remembrance! 

One  year  has  passed  since  you  left  me.  One  year!  what  a  very 
fragment  of  time  it  seemed  when  my  heart  was  light  and  my  horizon 
boundless.     And  now  how  differently  I  measvu-e  time!     The  long 

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iiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiMininniriniiiiiiiinnHiMniMiitininiinniiMniMHiinMiimiininintMnnnniiiniinniiinMininiiinniuinniinitnniiniiiinniiiiniiinniiiiiiiiilimn^^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiiimiiiiniimiiiminiimmiiiiiiiiiiniHiiniiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiHimmiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiniiininiNniiiHiiHniiiniiiiiiiiunniiitiiiiiii 

summer  days  that  you  so  loved  have  come  and  gone,  and  again  the 
inverted  season  of  the  year  is  here,  and  through  that  year,  in  a  dazed, 
unreal  way  I  have  lived,  hopelessly,  helplessly,  vainly  trying  to  solve 
the  problem  of  the  re-adjustment  of  my  life. 

'Mirage  of  the  heart  and  memory"  how  near  it  brings  that  far 
off  day  when  first  me  met,  a  boy  and  girl  on  the  threshold  of  life.  A 
few  years  later  we  were  married  and  hand  in  hand  we  started  blithely 
up  the  hill. 

O  Youth!  O  Love!  O  Happiness!  O  Years!  when  joy  ran  a 
golden  thread  through  all  the  gray  homespun  of  everyday  life. 
Youth  fled  but  love  and  happiness  endured,  and  hand  in  hand  we 
passed  over  the  broad,  pleasant  table  land  of  middle  life,  and  hand  in 
hand  we  were  journeying  down  the  hill,  when  suddenly,  "glittering 
and  bare  the  long- veiled  hand  stretched  out  of  the  immutable  heavens, 
claiming  that  which  was  Its  own." 

O!  Heart  of  my  Heart  and  Soul  of  my  Soul!  how  did  I  live 
through  the  anguish  of  that  time?  Surely  grief  does  not  kill,  else 
had  I  not  lived  on  when  all  that  made  life  worth  living  had  been 
taken  away,  and  the  brightness  and  sunshine  of  existence  forever 
blotted  out! 

You  were  so  much  a  part  of  me,  so  woven  into  my  real  self 
that  it  was  like  rending  asunder  my  very  being  to  give  you  up.  You 
were  my  World!  You  were  my  best  and  truest  friend;  you  were 
my  confidant,  the  only  one  I  ever  had;  you  were  my  sunny,  phil- 
osophical comrade;  you  were  my  counselor  whose  advice  I  could 
always  rely  upon;  you  were  my  loving,  devoted  and  tender  com- 
panion; you  were  my  all-in-all,  the  light  of  my  life,  yea,  the  very 
life  of  my  life  and  "only  God  and  my  own  heart  know"  how  lost  I 
am  without  you. 

Life  without  you! — ^A  World  without  you! — It  seems  incred- 
ible!— It  seems  impossible! — There  is  always  with  me  the  wild, 
uncontrollable  feeling  that  you  must  and  will  come  back, — that  I  shall 
again  hear  your  dear  voice  speak  my  name  in  the  old,  fond  way, — 
that  I  shall  again  look  in  your  tender  love-lit  eyes, — that  I  shall  again 
feel  your  dear  arms  around  me  and  clasp  you  in  mine.  I  pray  God 
that  I  may  learn  to  say.  Thy  will  be  done,  but  as  yet  I  cannot. 

A  friend  tells  me  that  I  have  had  my  full  share  of  happiness  and 
should  try  to  forget  myself.  Forget  myself!  It  is  not  self  pity  that 
oppresses  me,  but  grief  at  thought  of  the  "pleasing,  anxious  spirit" 
that  was  embodied  in  you;  snatched  away  from  love  and  light  and 

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iiiiininiiiniiiiniiiinniiiiniinniiinMiMHiiiniiiMiiMiiMniiiinninininiiiniuwininiiiimiiiiiinMiMnnniiniiiinininMiinuNuiiiiuiiiiiniuiniiiiiiiiinniniiiiiuiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiininiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiniiniiiiiuiinniiMiiiiuiiiuiMnniiinniiirMniiriiiiiiiiininiiHiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiMniininrniiiinuinHiuMinniiininuininiuiiiuiiiiuiiiiiiiiniiiiuiniitiiiiiiiuiinMiiinniiiiiiuiinuin 

warmth,  and  the  sweet,  fresh  air  that  you  so  loved, — from  the  "warm 
precincts  of  the  genial  day,"  and  a  World  that  was  so  beautiful  to 
you. 

That  I  grieve  because  your  tender,  loving  heart  is  still  and  cold, 
and  that  none  shall  ever  again  hear  the  greeting  of  your  voice,  or  feel 
the  friendly  clasp  of  your  hand, — that  your  generous  nature,  your 
active,  eager  mind,  your  interesting,  attractive  personality  no  longer 
exist, — that  you,  my  Beloved,  are  no  more  to  be  numbered  among 
men! 

It  is  Nature,  but  oh,  how  cruel  and  terrible  Nature  is  in  doing 
her  allotted  work!  How  can  we  resign  ourselves  to  it?  Accept  it 
without  murmuring?    Submit,  and  say — It  is  well! 

To  be  given  this  pleasant,  familiar  thing  that  we  call  life !  To  be 
placed  in  a  world  full  of  beauty,  of  interest,  and  of  charm!  To  be 
given  the  senses  to  enjoy,  and  the  intelligence  to  appreciate!  To  be 
given  affections!  To  love,  and  be  loved,  and  then,  heralded,  or  un- 
heralded, comes  the  Shadow  that  has  been  waiting — 

"Dreaded  of  man,  and  surnamed  the  Destroyer;" 

and  the  dear  body  so  cared  for  and  watched  over ;  the  warm,  sentient, 
pulsating  body  lies  unresponsive,  and  motionless  and  lifeless,  and  the 
tender,  cherished  Earthly  ties  forever  severed. 

I  thank  God  my  Beloved  that  you  were  not  first  bereft  of  me. 
That  you  were  not  the  one  called  upon  to  bear  the  anguish  of  sepa- 
ration,— ^to  know, 

"The  hunger  and  thirst  of  the  heart. 
The  frenzy  and  fire  of  the  brain." 

To  and  from  your  resting  place  I  go  and  come,  a  lonely  com- 
rade wrapt  in  dreams,  struggling  with  the  phantoms  of  imagination, 
the  phantoms  of  fear  and  doubt. 

Flowers  bloom  around  you;  above  you,  birds  sing  in  the  tree 
tops,  and  the  waving  branches  set  the  shadows  dancing  on  the 
greensward  beside  you ;  the  piping  quail,  followed  by  their  little  brood, 
run  to  cover  as  I  pass.  Human  sorrow,  human  loneliness,  human 
helplessness  set  against  the  careless  joy  of  nature  that  takes  no  note 
of  loss  and  separation;  but  the  sacrifice  of  earthly  possession  is  not 
separation.  "There  is  only  one  separation  and  that  is  when  the  heart 
turns  away  and  memory  forgets."  Memory!  That  is  now  my  life! 
Memory  of  the  happiness  we  had  in  living  in  and  for  one  another 
through  so  many  years  in  that  blessed  World  of  Two ! 

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■iiiiiniiiiiiiininuimniiinMiuiiMiiiiiumiiiMriiMiiiiiiitiiininirimiuiiuuHuiiwHnHiinHiiniiHuiiiiiiiiMiiMi»HiiirniiMHminiMiiHiminiiiHiiiiiiiminiitiiriiniiM 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

mnimiiniiiiHiinumuiHiiiiiuiiinMiiiiiiuinirHmimiiiiiriinmmmnniuuwiimimiiMiiiuniiiiinnuiinmiiiiiiiiiinHiniiiiiitniinininiiniiiiiiHUiiiiiniiiiuiiiiiiniiniHU 

Oh,  that  World  of  Two !  That  wonderful  and  beautiful  relation- 
ship between  two  people  whom  God  has  joined  together!  There  is 
something  almost  divine,  in  the  complete  surrender  of  one  human 
heart  to  another,  and  the  faith  and  trust  and  devotion  that  go  with  it! 
Perfect  faith,  perfect  trust,  and  love  stronger  than  death!  Two 
beings,  yet  one  in  their  joys  and  sorrows,  their  hopes  and  aspirations, 
their  desires  and  sympathies.  Children  following  the  order  of  nature 
sooner  or  later  find, 

"A  dearer  one 
Still,  and  a  nearer  one 
Yet  than  all  other." 

But  Husband  and  Wife!  as  the  years  pass,  growing  closer  and 
closer  in  thought  and  sympathy;  ever  nearer,  ever  dearer;  ever  need- 
ing each  the  other  more  and  more.  Husband  and  Wife!  for  richer 
for  poorer,  in  sickness  and  in  health,  to  love  and  to  cherish, — forsak- 
ing all  others, — till  death  do  us  part. 

When  Lady  Scott  passed  away,  Sir  Walter  wrote  in  his  diary, 
"She  is  sentient,  and  conscious  of  my  emotions,  somewhere,  somehow 
— where,  we  cannot  tell — how  we  cannot  tell,  yet  would  I  not 
renounce  the  mysterious,  yet  certain,  hope  that  I  shall  see  her  in  a 
better  World,  for  all  this  World  could  give  me." 

So  often  I  feel,  my  Beloved,  that  you  must  he  conscious  of  my 
emotions; — and  I  do  believe  that  we  shall  meet  again,  and  that  the 
tender,  invisible  bond  that  held  us  so  closely  together  on  Earth  is  not 
forever  broken.  Here,  my  happiness  was  the  aim  of  your  life  and  the 
wish  of  your  heart,  and  now!  can  you  give  me  no  sign?  No  word  to 
quiet  the  wild  unrest  and  questioning  that  ever  besets  me;  until  I  cry 
out  with  Tennyson, 

"Oh  Christ  that  it  were  possible. 

For  one  short  hour  to  see 
The  souls  we  loved,  that  they  might  tell  us 

What,  and  where  they  be." 

Tennyson  had  no  doubt  concerning  immortality. 

"Believing  where  we  cannot  prove." 

No,  we  cannot  prove;  but  who  is  there  that  can  disprove?  Even 
though  the  future  be  held  forever  in  the  realm  of  speculation  and 
mystery.  That  unfathomable  mystery !  The  flight  of  the  spirit  when 
the  body   is  left  untenanted!     Through   all   time,   since   the   first 

Page  Sixteen 


'OiiuiNiiiiiiiinmiiniiiiniiMiiiinimiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiMmimiiiimiiHuiMiiMiiiMiniiiiiiiiiiiiitMiiniiniiirniiinnininiiniiiiniiniiiiiininiuin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

amniiiniiiHiHiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiumniiiuiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiniiMuiiiiiiiiiiininiJniiMiiitnituuinininiiiJiiMniiMiiiinnniniiniinnjniiiiniiiniiiMinnnininHininniMHnMJMiniiii^ 

mourner  bent  in  grief  over  a  beloved  body,  the  mystery  has  remained 
unsolved.  Followers  of  different  religions,  of  philosophy,  theosophy, 
mysticism  and  occultism,  all  indulging. 

"This  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire, 
This  longing  after  immortality." 

All  asking  the  question  that  remains  forever  unanswered,  "What,  and 
where,  they  be." 

If  that  exists  for  which  we  aU  hope  and  through  faith  believe, 
I  have  no  fear  for  you.    You  were, 

"Perplexed  in  faith,  but  pure  in  deeds," 


"There  is  more  faith  in  honest  doubt. 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  your  creeds." 

And  in  the  words  of  the  Psalmist  you  went  "with  clean  hands 
and  a  pure  heart."  You  know  the  secret  that  in  time  we  shall  all 
know.  You  have  solved  the  mystery  that  sooner  or  later  we  all  shall 
solve.    You  have  gone  on  the  journey  from  which  none  ever  return. 

What  is  the  secret.  Dear?  And  what  the  mystery.  I  have  my 
hours  of  fear  and  dread  and  doubt — dark,  dark  hours;  and  then, 
thank  God,  faith  comes,  the  clouds  vanish,  and  through  the  eyes  of 
faith  I  see  the  journey  that  you  have  made,  and  the  end. 

"It  is  but  crossing  with  a  bated  breath 
A  narrow  strip  of  sea, 
To  find  the  loved  one  waiting  on  the  shore." 


"There  was  the  Door  to  which  I  found  no  key; 
There  was  the  Veil  through  which  I  might  not  see." 

So  sang  the  Persian  poet  eight  hundred  years  ago.  Today  many 
active,  earnest  workers  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research  claim 
that  the  door  is  open  and  the  veil  rent  asunder ;  that  communication  is 
being  held  with  those  who  have  gone  before,  to  the  spirit  World; 
that  memory  and  affection  are  not  limited  to  here,  and  now ;  and  that 
in  the  continuity  of  existence,  intelligence  and  personality  survive. 

Surely  if  there  is  joy  in  Heaven,  memory  and  affection,  and 
personality  must  survive;  for  who  could  conceive  a  Heaven  without 
remembrance,  and  love,  and  personahty  of  the  Dear  Ones  gone 
before. 

Page  Seventeen 


tllMIMIIUIIIIMIIHIHHIIIinillHIIHIIIIIIHIIIHinillHHIIIIIIIinillllNHIHIIIIIIIIIIIIHIHNHIIIIHHtHIIIHHHI<miHIIIMHn»«IHIHIimiHIHHIHIHHIIIIHHmWHHHHIHHI^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

uiiiiiiiiiiiiinHHiiiniiiiiiniiiMiiniiiinitiiiniiMiiiitiinimiiMniiiiimiiiiiiniiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiininiHHiiiiHiHiHHiniiiiinmininiMiiiniHiiHMiHiHiiiiHmHiHMiii^^ 

Sir  Oliver  Lodge,  one  of  the  foremost  workers  in  Psychical  Re- 
search, writes:  "A  bodj''  of  responsible  investigators  has  even  now 
landed  on  the  treacherous,  but  promising  shores  of  the  new  Continent, 
not  through  occultism,  or  mysticism,  but  through  methods  of  science." 

We  wait  and  watch,  and  long  to  know  if  human  endeavor  work- 
ing along  the  lines  of  science  in  Psychical  Research,  will  succeed  in 
laying  bare,  the  secret  God  has  kept  for  His  very  own  since  first  He 
created  man. 


"I  have  a  room  where  into  no  one  enters. 
Save  I,  myself,  alone; 
There  sits  a  blessed  memory  on  a  throne; 
There,  my  life  centers." 

And  there  I  weave  warm,  tender  memories  around  you  and  the 
past.  In  that  room  I  feel  your  presence, — I  hear  your  merry  laugh 
as  we  recalled  amusing  incidents, — I  hear  j^our  voice  and  bantering 
words  as  you  try  to  defend  yourself  against  my  jealousy!  Yes,  my 
actual  jealousy  of  your  fondness  for  books!  Oh  those  hours!  What 
hours  they  were!  And  books,  books,  books,  how  you  delighted  in 
books!  Of  late  years  you  reproached  yourself  for  the  desultory 
character  of  j^our  reading,  but  it  gave  you  a  great  fund  of  general 
information  that  was  very  interesting. 

In  that  room  I  think  of  the  keen  enjojTnent  we  took  in  just  the 
simple,  everyday  things  of  everyday  life  that  made  the  very  joy  of 
existence. 

The  pleasant  intercourse  with  friends  and  relatives,  and  the 
interest,  activities  and  distractions  of  the  city  of  our  choice  and  our 
adoption.  The  enjoyment  that  each  season  of  the  year  brought  in 
turn.  The  coming  of  spring,  the  wild  flowers,  and  the  blossoming 
fruit  trees.  The  brightness  of  a  summer  day  with  fleecy  clouds  drift- 
ing over  an  azure  sky.  Murmuring  brooks,  and  swift,  rushing 
streams.  The  song  of  birds,  green  fields,  waving  grain  and  the 
shade  of  trees.  Flowers  blooming  in  the  gardens  and  the  rustle  of 
dancing  leaves  overhead.  The  crescent  moon,  the  planets  and  the 
silvery  stars,  and  over  and  above  all,  the  rich  inheritance  of  being 
alive  and  together,  to  share  in  the  beauty  and  wonder  of  it  all.  Oh, 
the  World  was  very  beautiful  and  wonderful  to  us!  The  warm, 
bright  World,  so  full  of  life  and  of  love! 

In  that  room — dreaming  in  my  waking  hours — as  boy  and  girl 
we  walk  beneath  the  blossoming  orchard  trees ;  or  tread  with  lingering 

Page  Eighteen 


i«iMiiiMnnnmHiiiiiiriiniMMnuMiiiMiniiMiiiniiiinni(iiMiiiHiiimHiniHiiiiHHUiniimiiiiiiiiiiiiiitunnHiiMMiiiniiriniiiiHi)iiHiMii»uii<nHiiuiiiiiiHiiniuiHiiiriHiiNiiiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

itiiiiiiMiiHHrMniiiiiiiiniiMiiiniiHiiiiiiinMiiiHiniiiiuiiMiininiiumMiiiiiHiiiiHininiiiMHiiHininimiiiinniiimiiiiniiiiiituMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiwHiHmHiiiiiiiiim 

steps  a  path  beside  red  clover  fields,  gathering  sweet-briar  roses  from 
the  bordering  hedge,  and  stems  of  ripe,  red  strawberries  from  the 
grass  beneath;  while  overhead  the  bobolinks  fly  and  sing, — fly  and 
sing. 

In  that  room,  I  roam  with  you  through  many  lands.  We  stand 
together  on  lofty  mountain  tops;  we  walk  on  the  beautiful  shore  of 
a  tideless  sea;  we  thread  the  aisles  of  dim  Cathedrals;  we  stroll  in 
quaint  market  places,  and  on  strange,  crowded  city  streets.  We  hear 
again — 

"The  Alpine  torrents  roar. 
The  mule  bells  tinkling  down  the  bridle  paths  of  Spain, 
The  sea  at  Elsinore." 

In  that  room,  I  render  thanks  to  the  Giver  of  all  good,  for  per- 
mitting us  to  enjoy  so  much  together,  both  at  home  and  abroad.  The 
masterpieces  of  painting  and  sculpture,  of  music  and  architecture, 
and  the  work  of  that  greatest  of  all  Masters! — Nature! 


Someone  has  said  that  the  only  way  to  measure  and  estimate  the 
worth  and  strength  of  a  life,  is  by  the  afterglow  it  leaves  behind,  and 
so  it  is  that  as  time  passes,  and  I  see  the  afterglow  of  your  life,  my 
Beloved,  ever  deepening,  and  glowing  with  brighter  colors,  I  realize 
more  and  more,  the  worth  and  strength  of  your  nature,  your  char- 
acter, and  your  life. 

Chance  and  fortune  were  never  prodigal  with  you,  but  you  took 
gratefully  whatever  little  good  they  gave,  and  never  allowed  yourself 
to  be  disturbed  by  what  you  had  missed.  How  often  I  have  heard 
you  quote  the  lines  of  Burns, 

"Not  for  to  hide  it  in  a  hedge. 
Not  for  a  train  attendant. 
But  for  the  glorious  privilege 
Of  being  independent." 

You  were  so  thankful  to  be  independent!  Arid  only  wished  for 
means  beyond  independence,  that  you  might  give  more  freely  to 
those  who  needed  help.  You  felt  such  catholic  sympathy  for  poor, 
unfortunate  humanity! 

"For  the  low,  and  the  humble. 
The  weary,  the  broken  in  heart;" 

Page  Nineteen 


riiiiMMiiiiiriniinrMriiiiKniiinininiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiimimimiiMiiiuiniiiiiiiMiiMimimtMiiiiimiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iriiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiitiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiniiiniiiiiiiiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiimiiimuiiiiiniiuinniMniiirininiiiiiiiiiiiiinMniuiiniiiHiMiiiiiiniiiiiimnimiiiiiinmiiMUiiniiiiiniiiiiiiniiHitHiHniituniinniniiiinnHiiiniiiinHiinniiiMiiiiiuiiiiHiMii 

Handicapped  through  Hfe  by  a  dehcate  constitution,  with 
attacks  of  illness,  often  of  a  painful  and  serious  nature,  yet  always 
in  answer  to  my  sympathy  and  anxiety  you  would  say,  "It  might 
be  worse;"  and  when  in  the  last  few  months  your  dear  eyes  failed, 
and  the  pleasure  of  reading  was  taken  from  you,  how  bravely  and 
nobly  you  bore  the  affliction.  Seeing  my  heart  so  torn  with  pity,  in 
cheerful  tones,  you  often  said,  "It  might  be  worse;  not  every  one  so 
afflicted  has  a  dear  companion  always  ready  to  read  or  write,  and  so 
long  as  I  can  see  your  face  I  shall  not  complain." 

Ah  me!  The  memory  of  those  precious,  blessed  months!  The 
fear  lest  you  should  tax  me  too  severely;  your  brave,  philosophical 
spirit  that  rose  to  noble  heights  against  a  threatened  affliction,  that  I 
had  often  heard  you  say,  was  the  greatest  that  could  befall  mankind! 

And  here  let  me  write  down  what  I  knew  you  to  be ;  Singularly 
free  from  envy;  never  imputing  unworthy  motives,  and  always 
putting  the  best  construction  upon  the  actions  of  others;  easily  hurt 
yourself,  and  full  of  regret,  if  you  thought  that  by  hasty  or  pas- 
sionate speech  you  had  hurt  another;  true  and  loyal  in  friendship; 
generous  and  charitable  in  judgment;  fair,  and  just,  and  upright, 
the  tery  soul  of  honor  in  all  your  dealings  with  men,  and  affairs; 
sincere  in  purpose;  conscientious  in  duty  and  allegiance;  never  fol- 
lowing the  temptations  and  by-ways  of  expediency;  proud,  sensitive, 
and  self-respecting ;  dignified,  direct,  and  serious,  yet  mth  a  fine  sense 
of  humor;  never  striving  after  place,  or  position,  or  social  influence; 
honest  and  courageous  in  conviction,  with  sympathy  and  toleration 
for  all.  Such,  is  my  all  too  unworthy  tribute  to  you,  my  Beloved!  to 
you,  from  one  who  knew  you  as  no  other  could,  your  faults  and  your 
virtues !  To  you,  from  one  who  feels  that  your  friends  might  honestly 
and  truthfully  say  of  you,  what  Carlyle  said  of  a  friend:  "I  never 
knew  a  finer,  tenderer,  more  sensitive,  or  more  modest  soul,  among 
the  sons  of  men." 


Page  Twenty 


iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii i> iiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitMiiiiritiiiiiiiiimniii iiiiii iiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiimiitiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiitiiii niiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiii iiimiiiiiiiiiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

aiiiinirniiiniiiMuiiiiiiniiniiiiinnniiiininiiniiuimiiiiniiiiiiiitniiiiuniiniiHiiiiHiiiiiriiiiiMiiiiniiiniiiimnuiuimiiiinuMiininnininiiunnnniiiininiiiinmiiiniuiiinHtii^ 

PART  TWO 

A  ND  NOW,  Dear  Heart  of  mine,  let  us  put  aside  for  a  while  all 
ZA  sadness  and  sorrow,  and  go  together  over  some  of  the  scenes  and 
experience  of  that  happy  past  of  long  ago.  How  often  you 
have  laughed  at  what  you  called  my  "ever-ready  pencil"  with  which  I 
dotted  down  impressions  and  events  whenever  or  wherever  we 
strayed  from  our  familiar  surroundings.  Now  by  the  help  of  that 
ever-ready  pencil  and  the  magic  of  memory,  the  scenes  and  experi- 
ence of  that  far  away  past  become  as  fresh  and  vital  as  those  of 
recent  years,  and  I  have,  as  it  were,  "collected  the  scattered  embers 
that  lie  on  the  hearth  of  memory"  and  fanned  them  into  life. 

Heredity,  the  pleasant  experience  of  childhood,  and  an  eager, 
active,  observing  mind,  all  combined  to  foster  in  you  a  strong  desire 
for  travel,  and  so  it  naturally  followed  that  so  soon  as  you  had  saved 
a  little  money,  you  should  think  of  enlarging  your  horizon  by  jour- 
neying somewhere.  The  Hawaiian  Islands  were  nearest  and  promised 
most,  and  one  June  day,  on  the  Steamer  Idaho,  with  Captain  Floyd 
of  pleasant  memory  in  command,  we  sailed  for  Honolulu. 

That  voyage,  the  first  of  so  many  we  were  to  make  together,  was 
over  a  smooth,  summer  sea,  where  schools  of  porpoises  and  flying  fish 
interested  us  by  day,  and  at  night  under  the  star-lit  sky  we  would 
watch  for  hours  the  silvery  wake  made  by  our  vessel  through  the 
phosphorescent  water,  and  trace  constellations  with  the  valuable  aid 
of  our  genial,  friendly  Captain. 

On  the  morning  of  the  twelfth  day  the  picturesque  mountains 
of  the  Island  of  Oahu  came  in  sight.  In  good  time  we  rounded 
Diamond  Head  and  the  Idaho  was  warped  to  her  berth  in  a  most 
primitive  way  by  oxen  and  a  windlass. 

Wreaths  of  flowers — leis — were  flung  about  the  necks  of  all  the 
passengers  as  they  stepped  on  a  wharf  crowded  with  natives.  You 
quickly  rid  yourself  of  the  foolishness  but  I  wore  mine  until  we  got 
into  a  carriage. 

You  were  familiar  with  tropical  countries,  but  for  me  what  a 
fairy  land  of  enchantment  it  was!  The  intense  blue  of  sea  and  sky, 
the  rich,  luxuriant  unknown  vegetation,  the  strange  fruits,  the  wealth 
of  tropical  flowers,  the  houses  with  broad  verandas  latticed  and 
screened  by  flowering  vines  and  shaded  by  flowering  trees,  the  natives, 
handsome  bare-footed  men,  bare-footed  women  and  girls  in  loose, 
bright  colored  garments,  with  wreaths  of  flowers  on  their  heads,  and 
garlands  of  flowers  around  their  shoulders — they  were  everywhere. 

Page  Twenty-one 


MHIIimmiHIHHHIIH»HNIIIWIimiHIHHHimHH»HlimHimHltMimiHKHHNIimHHIHimMIHIIIIHHinHNIWIHHimlMm>mHHmHHHHMIHIIHHIIHmHmHHWm 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

nHIIHIIIHnHHHIHIIMUMIHItlimHIIUHMHHIIinHHinHI)HIIMMIMMMIIHmilllllUHtHniUIHIIIIIHIIIIIIIHIHIIIiniHllllimHIIIIIIMHHNIIIIIHIIIMMIMIIIIiniMllllnllMlimlHIHII»IIIIIIIIH 

full  of  animation,  chattering  and  laughing  like  children,  while  others 
similarly  bedecked  were  riding  through  the  streets,  sitting  astride  their 
horses,  with  the  vivid  hued,  voluminous,  picturesque  saddle  cloths 
streaming  out  behind,  and  riding  with  the  dash  and  fearlessness  of 
Hussars. 

There  were  no  hotels  in  Honolulu,  and  it  was  our  good  fortune 
to  have  been  recommended  to  a  boarding  house  where  we  were  excel- 
lently well  cared  for,  and  where  we  met  many  charming  people;  not 
only  those  in  residence  there,  but  others  who  came  to  call,  among  the 
latter  being  the  gracious,  amiable,  deservedly  popular  Queen  Enmia. 

Our  kindhearted  landlady  was  zealous  in  her  wish  that  we  should 
taste  and  enjoy  all  the  products  of  the  country,  and  the  variety  put 
upon  her  table  during  our  stay,  particularly  of  fruits,  could  only  be 
understood  and  appreciated  by  those  who  had  themselves  visited  that 
favored  land. 

This  good  lady's  family  consisted  of  a  daughter  and  a  son,  then 
in  his  early  manhood,  who  later  became  a  multi-millionaire,  and  has 
but  recently  passed  over  to  the  majority. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write,  I  doubt  if  there  could  anywhere 
have  been  found,  in  a  small  population,  so  many  kindly  disposed, 
warm-hearted,  hospitable  people  as  were  numbered  among  the  resi- 
dents of  Honolulu.  Visitors  were  few,  and  those  who  were  at  all 
acceptable  were  made  the  excuse  for  every  form  of  delightful  enter- 
tainment. We  had  carried  two  letters  of  introduction  to  prominent 
families,  and  both  letters  brought  us  charming,  cordial  people  with 
invitations  to  an  eleven  o'clock  breakfast.  These  breakfasts  were 
each  served  on  a  secluded  veranda,  embowered  in  vines  and  flowers, 
and  were  so  perfect  in  every  detail  and  appointment,  and  made  so 
delightful  by  bright  and  interesting  conversation,  that  the  memory  of 
them  never  faded  quite  away.  In  both  cases  the  ready  response  to  a 
letter  introducing  two  young  people  without  fortune  or  position  was 
not  only  a  kindness  but  a  real  compliment,  particularly  as  the  first 
invitation  was  followed  by  others,  and  during  our  entire  stay  these 
genial  people  made  frequent  calls,  often  bringing  something  espe- 
cially fine  in  the  way  of  fruits  or  flowers. 

For  an  afternoon's  entertainment  croquet  parties  were  much  in 
favor,  with  refreshments  after  the  exciting  games  were  over,  or  per- 
haps partaken  of  during  a  sudden  shower  of  rain.  And  there  were 
dancing  parties  given  in  charming  homes,  where  on  verandas,  and  in 
the  grounds  Chinese  lanterns  glowing  amid  the  bloom  of  brilliant 
flowers  made  a  veritable  fairyland.    Indoors  the  rooms  were  festooned 

Page  Twenty-two 


OIIIWIIHHIHIIHHUHIIIllWIIHmiHIHIHHIHHIIIIIIIIIIIHmHHIinmlHIWHHmmHWIHHHIHIIIimilMIIIIHmilinillHHmHimiHIIIIUIIUnHIIIIHIUIIHHmUHIIHI^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

MlnillimilMIHIHHHIIUIIIIIIIUIHUIIMIHIIIIIUIMHIIiniUIMIMIMHMIIIMIHIIIHtmillHUIIHIIMIIIIIIIIIIIHIHIIIIIIIIIHIMIIIIIIIirNIMIIIIIIIHIUIIHHIMItlHIIIH 

with  flowers  closely  strung  together,  white,  alternating  with  some 
vivid  color,  and  as  the  ropes  of  white  were  composed  of  stephanotis, 
tuberoses,  and  double  Cape  jasmine  the  languorous  air  soon  became 
overladen  with  perfume.  Refreshments  were  enjoyed  at  will.  Delic- 
ious, cooling  drinks,  fruit  salads,  ices,  and  a  variety  of  dainty,  delicate 
confections. 

One  glorious  night  when  the  moon  was  at  the  full,  Captain 
Floyd  gave  a  reception  on  the  Idaho,  proving  himself  an  ideal  host, 
and  the  staunch,  little  steamer  (his  castle  for  the  time)  with  flags 
and  bunting,  lights  and  flowers,  music  and  dancing  was  a  place  of 
enchantment. 

Excursions  of  every  kind  were  made  on  horseback,  and  for  visits, 
ceremonious  calls,  and  responding  to  invitations  a  light  Victoria 
generally  drawn  by  one  horse  was  used.  It  was  all  very  simple  and 
delightfully  pleasant ;  far  removed  from  the  Honolulu  of  today. 

Passing  away  with  the  old  order  of  things,  there  must  have  gone 
much  of  that  whole  hearted  kindness  and  disposition  to  befriend  the 
stranger  that  made  our  visit  such  a  delight  to  remember.  Every  day 
we  had  some  evidence  of  this  kindness  and  disposition.  From  many 
instances  I  have  selected  one.  A  party  of  four  ladies  and  two  gentle- 
men were  going  from  our  house  by  invitation  to  visit  friends  who 
lived  on  their  large  sugar-cane  plantation  twenty  miles  away.  To  our 
great  surprise  it  was  suggested  that  we  join  the  party. 

At  first  we  would  not  listen  to  it.  It  was  impossible!  Go  to 
the  home  of  strangers  to  spend  a  night  with  a  party  that  already 
numbered  six?  But  every  one  of  the  six  declared  there  would 
be  plenty  of  room  and  vouched  for  the  welcome  we  would  re- 
ceive. Every  objection  we  made  was  overruled,  with  the  result 
that  on  the  following  day  eight  horses  stood  in  front  of  the 
house,  ready  for  a  start,  instead  of  six,  and  tied  on  the  back  of  each 
saddle  was  a  small  waterproof  roll,  containing  articles  necessary  for 
the  night.  Many  of  the  party  owned  their  horses;  the  others  rode 
those  reserved  for  their  exclusive  use.  Of  the  two  extra  mounts,  the 
one  with  the  side-saddle  intended  for  me  was  a  handsome,  spirited 
animal  that  you  had  been  assured  was  perfectly  safe. 

We  were  scarcely  beyond  the  outskirts  of  the  town  when  I  be- 
came aware  of  an  occasional  action  or  motion  of  my  horse,  such  as  I 
had  never  before  experienced,  that  gave  me  a  feeling  of  insecurity  in 
the  saddle  and  made  me  nervous  and  uncomfortable.  I  mentioned  it 
to  the  lady  riding  beside  me.  At  once  came  the  suggestion  that  we 
change  horses.     She  was  riding  her  own  gentle,  reliable  horse.     She 

Page  Twenty-three 


imiiiiHiNniiuuiiiiHiiniiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiMiiniiiiiiiiHiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiniininniiniiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiim 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

AIIIIIIIIUUIIIIIIIIIIIMillllllllllllllllllMIIIIIIIIIIIIHIIMMIIIIItlMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIirilllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllinilllll 

would  consider  it  a  favor  as  she  envied  me  the  mount  I  was  on,  and 
the  change  might  mean  for  me  the  diflFerence  between  enjoyment  and 
discomfort  all  the  long  way.  She  soon  discovered  a  suitable  place 
and  unobserved  by  those  in  advance,  we  made  the  exchange.  We 
were  riding  rapidly  to  join  the  party  and  had  almost  reached  them, 
when,  like  a  flash,  I  saw  my  companion  thrown  into  the  air  over  her 
horse's  head  and  lying  motionless  by  the  roadside;  explaining  later 
that  for  a  time  she  did  not  know  what  had  happened  to  her. 

At  my  cry  of  distress  every  one  turned  back,  and  amid  intense 
excitement,  before  any  one  could  reach  her,  to  the  great  relief  of  all, 
she  sprang  hghtly  up  declaring  she  was  not  in  the  least  hurt,  nor  was 
she.  Being  a  fine  rider,  resting  only  her  toe  in  the  stirrup,  she  had  a 
clean,  clear  throw  from  the  back  of  a  bucking  horse.  I,  always  rid- 
ing with  my  foot  thrust  far  in  the  stirrup  might  not  have  fared  so 
well. 

When  you  heard  it  was  my  horse  that  had  made  the  trouble  you 
were  excited  enough!  You  declared  no  life  or  limb  should  be  en- 
dangered by  riding  the  brute  again!  You  would  tie  him  to  a  tree  to 
be  sent  for,  ride  back  for  a  carriage  to  take  me  home,  and  the  party 
must  continue  on  their  way. 

While  you  talked  and  were  argued  with,  the  Captain  of  the 
party  had  put  his  saddle  upon  the  bucker — quietly  nibbling  grass  by 
the  roadside — the  side-saddle  upon  his  own  horse,  seated  the  lady  who 
liad  been  thrown,  and  springing  to  his  saddle,  announced,  ''the  caval- 
cade will  now  proceed/^  There  was  some  fun  at  your  expense,  but 
you  were  well  pleased  with  the  result  and  again  we  were  off. 

We  were  now  in  the  Nuuanu  Valley.  On  both  sides  lovely 
vine  and  flower-covered  homes,  with  gardens  of  bloom,  under  beauti- 
ful, flowering  trees.  As  the  road  ascended  vegetation  became  less 
luxuriant  and  homes  fewer.  Rocks  and  boulders  appeared  on  the  hill- 
sides and  tiny  rills  fringed  with  ferns  trickled  down  the  banks. 

More  and  more  the  valley  narrowed,  and  sharper  and  higher 
became  the  points  of  rock  until  the  Pali  was  reached  and  the  wonder- 
fully beautiful  view  opened  before  us.  An  enthusiast  has  called  it, 
one  of  the  grandest,  most  superbly  spectacular  views  on  earth.  Back 
of  us,  and  on  either  side,  perpendicular  rocks  with  domes  and  peaks 
and  pinnacles  towered  hundreds  of  feet  above  us,  and  before  us  a 
sheer  drop  of  one  thousand  feet  to  the  broad  plain  below,  where 
pretty  toy  looking  homes  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  verdure; 
sugar-cane,  groves  of  bananas,  shade  and  fruit  trees.  Along  the 
coast  a  fringe  of  cocoanut  palms,  then  a  long  line  of  white  surf 

Page  Twenty -four 


miMimiiriiunHininiMiniiiinninMnMiuuiMiMiniiuiuniiHiiniuMiiiniHiniiiuimiiiHHiiinnMiNriHiiiiiniimniiiiiiitiiHiiinMiinniinnHiiiniiiinmHminiiiiMiiiMuiiniuiiiiinniiniii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

winniiiuiimiHiniiiiiuiiiiHMUiiiiiinininiMiMiiNnniiiNnMiininiiiiiiininiiiiiinniniiiNinnniNnmiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniuiHiniiiiMniMiiiinuniiniiiimmiwiiininiiiiiii^ 

breaking  over  the  coral  reef  and  beyond,  the  blue  waters  of  the 
Pacific. 

We  were  told  that  our  destination  lay  many  miles  away  over  the 
plain  below  and  that  the  road  to  reach  it,  was  down  the  face  of  the 
cliiF  on  which  we  were  standing.  It  was  a  frightfully  steep  trail  with 
sharp  turns  and  curves,  and  as  we  watched  the  first  horse  and  rider 
begin  the  descent  it  did  seem  an  extremely  hazardous  undertaking, 
and  so  it  was.  We  were  started  one  after  another  with  a  space  of 
several  feet  between  us,  so  that  accident  to  one  might  not  involve 
another.  Gradually  as  the  distance  to  the  plain  below  diminished 
the  feeling  of  danger  wore  off,  but  you  and  I,  Dear  Heart,  freely 
and  frankly  admitted  that  we  were  thankful  to  stand  in  safety  on  the 
plain.  Of  the  eight  horses  that  went  down  the  perilous  trail  that  day 
none  was  so  completely  without  any  trace  of  nervousness,  so  sure  of 
foot  and  certain  of  step,  and  did  the  trying  work  so  patiently  as  the 
bucking  horse.  We  took  a  long  rest,  and  gave  the  horses  a  breathing 
spell  with  loosened  girths  and  then  rode  on  over  the  garden-like  ex- 
panse. 

When  we  were  within  a  half  mile  or  so  of  our  destination  two 
of  the  party  increased  their  speed  (you  and  I  surmised  to  prepare  the 
way  for  us)  which  was  done  with  tact  and  thoughtfulness,  for  when 
we  alighted  from  our  horses,  without  any  formal  introduction,  the  host 
and  hostess  came  to  us  in  the  most  cordial  and  natural  manner,  called 
us  by  name,  and  said  they  were  glad  we  had  come. 

The  house  was  immense,  low,  rambling  and  picturesque.  Inside, 
the  passageways  were  labyrinths  of  twists  and  turns  as  they  led  to 
rooms  built  on  when  needed  or  as  fancy  dictated.  Such  was  the  room 
assigned  to  us,  spacious  and  charming  with  windows  on  three  sides 
well  screened  by  vines  that  were  masses  of  bloom. 

It  was  a  merry  party  and  we  felt  very  much  at  home  within  it. 
There  were  a  number  of  young  people  in  the  house,  members  of  the 
family  and  their  friends,  and  in  the  evening  on  the  broad  veranda 
they  sang  the  plaintive,  rather  monotonous  Hawaiian  music  to  the 
accompaniment  of  ukuleles. 

The  following  morning  we  were  all  early  astir.  After  breakfast 
we  went  to  see  the  activities  of  the  large  plantation.  Sugar-cane 
being  cut,  loaded  on  wagons  and  carried  to  the  crushing  mill.  A 
large  vegetable  garden  where  we  found  peas,  beans,  asparagus, 
lettuce,  sweet  potatoes,  melons,  pineapples  and  strawberries,  a  luxury 
the  Chinaman  in  charge  said  he  could  furnish  every  day  in  the  year. 
Then  came  a  long  row  of  picturesque  grass  huts  for  the  Natives 

Page  Twenty-five 


•MmiiiiiiimHnHiiNiiiuiiiHiHimiiinm)miiiHimiiiHmH«imiimmuiiimHiiiiiHiHiHiHHiimiHii>HiHniiHiHHHiHmNHtMm>H«HHHiHUHHWN«mwNHHWHMm«wm<um 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

a)iiiiiMiiiiHiiuiiiii»iiiiHHiHinniniiiiiiiniMinmnimuitHuiiniHmmiiiiuHiiHniiiHiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiMiiHiniiHiiimMHiiiii»iHH»iiHiHUitMitiMiiuiHuuiHHiHiiiuiiiiiiiHiitMHii^^ 

employed,  and  farther  on  a  grove  of  cocoanut  trees  of  unusual  size 
running  from  sixty  to  seventy  feet  in  height,  and  to  see  the  small 
Kanakas  go  up  those  tall  trees  with  the  ease  of  monkeys  to  bring 
down  the  nuts  was  an  interesting  sight  to  me.  When  they  had 
reached  the  very  top  the  amusing  part  of  the  performance  took  place. 
They  would  hang  suspended  by  their  hands  for  a  moment  and  then 
by  an  upward  twist  of  their  lithe  little  bodies  would  bring  their  heels 
down  upon  the  clusters  of  nuts,  and  kicking  with  all  their  might, 
down  would  come  the  cocoanuts  in  showers,  brown  and  green,  ripe 
and  unripe. 

After  luncheon  this  delightful  visit  came  to  an  end.  Adieus 
were  said  and  our  little  cavalcade  started  for  home.  The  climb  at  the 
Pali  was  not  so  nerve  racking  as  the  descent  had  been,  but  it  was 
trying  enough  to  make  two  of  the  party  glad  when  again  the  Nuuanu 
Valley  was  reached.  The  excursion  had  been  delightful  and  we  were 
grateful  for  the  kindness  that  had  made  us  sharers  in  it. 

The  bucking  horse  made  many  unsuccessful  attempts  to  throw 
his  rider,  and  was  returned  to  his  owner  with  a  sharp  reprimand. 

At  the  time  we  were  planning  to  visit  the  volcano  we  learned 
that  the  small  steamer,  by  which  we  expected  to  reach  Hilo  was  dis- 
abled, and  laid  up  somewhere  undergoing  repairs.  No  one  knew  when 
she  would  again  be  in  Honolulu. 

A  captain,  who  with  his  family  made  his  home  in  the  house 
where  we  were,  and  who  owned,  and  sailed  a  seventy-ton  schooner 
between  ports  of  the  different  islands,  hearing  of  our  disappointment, 
told  us  that  if  we  could  put  up  with  such  accommodations  as  he  could 
offer,  he  would  gladly  carry  us  to  Hilo,  adding  that  he  would  give 
us  his  cabin. 

We  accepted  gladly  and  gratefully  as  to  transportation,  but 
demurred  as  to  the  cabin;  however  the  Captain  settled  the  matter 
saying  the  trip  was  short  and  he  would  find  the  means  of  making 
himself  comfortable. 

Two  days  later  at  an  early  hour,  escorted  by  the  Captain,  with 
all  the  household  assembled  on  the  porch  to  wish  us  "bon  voyage" 
we  set  off  gaily  for  the  "Fanny"  named  for  the  wife  and  daughter 
of  the  Captain. 

We  found  the  little  deck  swarming  with  natives,  men,  women, 
children  and  dogs.  Many  of  the  women  wore  wreaths  and  garlands 
of  flowers  and  all  had  mats,  calabashs  of  poi,  dried  fish  and  bananas. 

The  dear  good  Captain!  He  never  knew  how  our  hearts  sank 
when  we  looked  into  the  cabin!    The  cabin  that  we  had  so  hesitated 

Page  Twenty-six 


>imillWmHlimiNmH»HIWtlllHIHI»IMIUmilllHHimHIIIIIIIIH»IUIIUHUHimWWHIHIWIHMMmtMHINIUmHIHHIWIimmmHiMHmi»WH<HUmiH»HimiHHHIIMNtHMHHI»HHIIHHHm( 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

ilHHIIIUMIMIIIIIIIUWinHUUIIIIHUUniiniHinnilHIIIItlllllllUIIMHmHUIHIUIIIHHHHNIIIIUIIIMIIIIUIUIItUIUIIHIiniUIHIIIIIIIIIHHHIIWNIIIIIIMIIHIIIIIIHKHHMIIIIHHIMIItMH^^ 

to  rob  him  of  and  where  the  few  necessary  articles  for  our  trip  were 
already  deposited.  At  the  bottom  of  a  short  flight  of  steep  steps  was 
a  mite  of  a  room,  made  between  the  decks.  A  narrow  table  about  six 
feet  long  with  a  bench  upon  one  side  took  up  nearly  all  the  floor 
space.  On  both  sides,  slightly  above  the  level  of  the  table  was  a  berth, 
and  here  it  was  that  the  Captain  and  mate  ate  and  slept.  There  was 
no  light  or  air  except  what  came  down  the  narrow  stairway. 

After  a  hurried  inspection,  we  forgot  the  cabin  in  the  interest 
and  excitement  of  getting  off,  as  helped  by  a  brisk  and  favoring 
wind  we  went  spinning  over  the  blue,  sparkling  water. 

In  our  honor  the  Captain  had  provisioned  his  larder  with  all 
sorts  of  delicacies,  and  with  him,  we  had  our  lunch  on  deck,  you  and 
I,  under  umbrellas,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  natives  who  kept 
advancing  upon  us,  in  spite  of  the  protests  of  the  mate,  and  when  we 
were  fairly  hemmed  in,  the  Captain  stood  up  and  shouted  at  them, 
while  the  mate,  and  the  cook,  and  the  little  cabin  boy  brandishing  any 
article  they  could  lay  their  hands  on,  drove  them  back  near  the  rail. 
This  little  play  proved  a  great  diversion  to  our  good-natured,  chatter- 
ing fellow  passengers,  and  it  was  enacted  many  times  while  we  were 
together  on  the  deck  of  that  little  schooner. 

"We  are  going  to  make  a  record  trip,"  the  Captain  said  glee- 
fully, as  we  finished  our  lunch  and  he  went  about  his  duties.  But 
alas!  toward  the  close  of  the  afternoon  the  sails  began  to  droop  and 
flap,  and  soon  we  lay  "as  idle  as  a  painted  ship  upon  a  painted  ocean" 
save  for  the  horrible  swell  on  which  our  little  schooner  lifted  and 
sank,  lifted  and  sank  with  sickening  monotony.  For  thirty-six  hours 
we  lay  becalmed  upon  that  glassy  sea;  no  life  or  movement  in  the 
air,  and  not  a  ripple  on  the  water.  I  sought  the  seclusion  of  the 
little  cabin,  but  the  want  of  air  drove  me  back  to  the  open.  Then  the 
good  Captain  had  the  mattresses  brought  up  and  our  beds  made  upon 
the  deck,  where  I  lay  during  those  long  hours,  a  prey  to  most  help- 
less and  persistent  sea  sickness,  which  neither  your  solicitude,  nor  the 
Captain's  kindness  could  alleviate.  A  tarpaulin  was  brought,  oh,  the 
smell  of  it!  raised  in  the  middle  and  made  into  a  kind  of  tent,  as 
protection  against  the  tropical  sun,  and  the  frequent  tropical  showers. 
At  night  when  rain  fell,  under  cover  of  the  darkness  that  came  with 
it,  it  took  the  Captain  and  all  the  crew,  to  keep  the  poor  drenched 
natives  from  crawling  under  our  shelter;  but  the  showers  though 
violent  were  of  short  duration,  and  when  the  sky  cleared,  and  the 
tarpaulin  was  thrown  back,  it  was  an  experience  never  to  be  forgotten, 
to  lie  on  the  little  deck  beneath  that  wonderful  canopy — star  gemmed 

Page  Twenty-seven 


4iiiiniiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitmiuimiiiiiiiiiiiinuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniinin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

itiiiiiiiiiiiii riiMiiitimMiMiMiniuiiMiiiiinniiinntiiHiiiiriiniiiiiiiiiiHmiiiiiiiiimriniiiiiiiiiiiiiiHinimiiinninmiiniiiiniiiinnniiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiniiMninHnmMuiiniiMMiiinnimniiiH 

and  flooded  with  silvery  moonlight,  and  around  us  in  perfect  calm  the 
illimitable  ocean!  It  was,  you  said,  like  being  in  touch  with  the  very 
mysteries  of  the  universe ! 

On  the  second  day  "the  dawn  wind  that  calls  the  sun"  blew  fresh 
and  strong.  At  once  all  was  bustle  and  activity,  and  soon  the  white 
sails  of  the  "Fanny"  were  unfurled,  fluttered,  filled,  and  she  was 
off"  like  a  bird.  The  tarpauHn  was  discarded,  the  mattresses  sent 
below,  and  the  Captain  sent  the  cook  to  the  galley  to  hurry  up  break- 
fast of  which  I  was  sorely  in  need;  and  what  a  jovial  little  party  we 
were  as  we  ate  our  morning  meal,  and  watched  the  play  of  gorgeous 
reds  and  purples  in  that  tropical  sunrise.  Then  the  Captain  took  his 
reckoning  and  found  that  while  lying  becalmed,  we  had  steadily 
drifted  in  the  direction  for  which  we  were  bound,  so  that  the  time  was 
not  entirely  lost. 

The  day  was  long  and  uneventful.  We  sat  until  midnight  on  the 
deck  and  then  went  below  to  the  little  cabin.  The  rapiditj^  of  our 
motion  forced  enough  air  for  comfort  down  the  stairway,  and  the 
poor  little  despised  cabin  became  a  welcome  harbor  of  refuge,  for  the 
proximity  of  so  many  noisy  Kanakas  began  to  wear  upon  us. 

The  following  day  we  hailed  with  delight  a  dark  line  on  the 
horizon  that  the  Captain  told  us  was  the  island  of  Hawaii.  For  hours 
we  sailed  along  the  beautiful  shores,  so  near  that  we  could  see  a  suc- 
cession of  white  cascades  gleaming  amidst  the  dark,  rich  foliage,  and 
toward  the  close  of  the  day  we  were  at  anchor  in  the  bay  of  Hilo, 
where  we  said  good-by  to  our  kind  friend,  the  Captain.  His  craft 
was  small,  but  his  heart  was  large  and  his  kindness  as  unbounded  as 
the  seas  over  which  he  sailed! 

There  was  no  hotel  in  Hilo,  and  no  place  where  one  could  pay  for 
accommodations,  but  the  kindhearted,  hospitable  residents  kept  open 
house  for  all  who  came  their  way. 

An  acquaintance  in  Honolulu  had  given  us  the  name  of  a  friend, 
whom  he  felt  sure  would  receive  us  kindly,  but  in  spite  of  his  assur- 
ance, and  it  being  the  custom  of  the  country,  it  was  with  great  trep- 
idation that  we  presented  ourselves.  We  were  met  by  a  gentleman 
who  to  our  great  relief  gave  us  a  warm  welcome,  and  in  reply  to  our 
apologies  for  intruding  upon  him,  declared  that  the  obligation  was  all 
on  his  side  as  he  happened  to  be  feeling  particularly  lonely  and  in 
need  of  company.  His  house  was  charming,  with  spacious  rooms  and 
broad  flower-hung  verandas.  The  extensive  grounds  were  delightful. 
Near  the  wall  bounding  the  grounds  was  a  structure  literally  covered 
with  vines  and  masses  of  gorgeous  bloom,  and  from  within  came  the 

Page  Twenty-eight 


nimiiiiiiiiiirii innHniiMituiiinniMniiiirMinniininimiiiiiiniiiiiniininiiiiniinniiiiiiiiitiiiiinniiiiiiiiinniniiinniiniiiiiiininiiiiniiiniiiiiiiiiiiininiiiiiiininiininiiiiniiiniiiiiiiiiiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

'iniiiiHiinnnMiiiiuiiiiiiinininiiniiiiiiHnMiiiiiiiiiiiiniiMMinitiniiiriJNiiiiiniiiniiiniininniHiniiMiniiiinntniniHiiiiiuMniiiniiiiniiininniiiiiiinnininininnMinininiMinniiiirin 

pleasant  sound  of  running  water,  so  it  was  no  surprise  to  find  that  this 
lovely  structure  was  a  spacious  bath  room,  where  through  an  immense 
tub  a  generous  stream  of  pure,  soft,  tepid  water  was  constantly 
flowing  and  great  was  the  luxury  of  that  bath  after  our  experience 
on  the  little  schooner. 

Directly  after  we  were  seated  at  table  for  dinner  we  heard  a 
flapping  of  wings,  and  a  large  parrot  lighted  on  our  host's  shoulder. 
He  stroked  the  bird  afl'ectionately  and  explained  that  Polly  was  his 
only  companion  since  his  family  found  life  in  Hilo  dull,  and  spent 
most  of  their  time  in  San  Francisco.  When  the  dinner  was  served 
the  parrot  slid,  and  flopped  until  he  reached  the  table  and  began  to 
eat  from  our  host's  plate,  often  helping  himself  to  bits  on  the  fork  that 
Mr. was  in  the  act  of  conveying  to  his  own  mouth.  Natu- 
rally the  talk  and  interest  for  the  time  centered  on  Polly,  who,  feeling 
his  importance,  began  to  look  around  in  a  very  animated  manner,  and 
then  to  your  amusement,  and  my  discomfiture,  that  dreadful  bird, 
with  a  loud  squawk,  waddled  towards  me,  and  began  gobbling  from 
my  plate.  Our  host  was  lost  in  amazement  for  never  before  had  Polly 
made  friends  with  a  stranger.  I  did  not  relish  Polly's  familiarity  and 
abandoned  my  plate  to  the  voracious  bird  that  soon  disposed  of  all 
the  food  upon  it.  Then  another  dinner  was  given  me  and  the  Chinese 
cook  carried  Polly,  screaming  and  swearing  to  some  place  of  con- 
finement. How  you  laughed  when  I  told  you  of  the  concern  I  felt 
at  the  prospect  of  sharing  my  food  with  that  household  pet;  but 
Polly  was  either  fickle,  or  blamed  me  for  the  indignity  he  sufl'ered 
when  removed  forcibly  from  the  dinner  table,  for  though  he  came 
regularly  to  all  meals,  he  never  again  took  any  notice  of  me. 

We  had  noticed  great  clusters  of  night-blooming  cereus  hanging 
on  the  garden  wall;  when  night  came  the  flowers  opened,  filling  the 
air  with  most  delicious  perfume.  We  sat  on  the  flower  scented 
veranda  until  nearly  midnight.  I  watched  the  smoke  that  curled  up 
from  your  cigars,  and  the  moonbeams  that  strayed  through  the  net- 
work of  vines  and  made  dancing  lights  and  shadows  on  the  floor, 
while  I  listened  to  the  interesting  talk.  Our  host  told  of  the  life  and 
industries  of  the  Islands,  and  plied  you  with  questions  concerning  the 
activities  of  that  world  from  which  he  was  so  cut  ofl*. 

The  following  morning  Mr.  took  us  over  his  fine 

estate,  where  we  saw  great  fields  of  sugar-cane,  pineapples,  plantain 
and  bananas.  Of  the  latter  he  was  very  proud,  saying  his  plants 
were  equalled  nowhere  on  the  Islands,  a  statement  we  could  well 
believe,  when  we  looked  at  those  wonderful  leaves.   Glossy  and  shim- 

Page  Twenty-nine 


MiinMiiiiiHHiniiiiiiiiMHiiniiMiHiiiiiiiHHiinMimnniiHUiiHiiiiiiiiwiMiiHiiiiniHMHiMiniiHininiiHHmniitiiiuiiiMiiHiiiuiiiiiiHHiiiiiiHinintniiiiiiiiiHiniiiiiiiiiHiiiiiHHHii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

lUiHiinimniiiiiiinniniiHinMiiMiiiimHimuiiiHiinnimiiiinimniiHiuniimiiiiMiiHiiniHMiiiMHiiiiiinMinniiiiitMiniiiiniitMHiniiuiiniuMiMiiiitinHtuiniiiiii^ 

mering  in  the  strong  light,  measuring  ten  and  twelve  feet,  and  perfect 
their  entire  length.  There  were  many  acres  also  of  fruit  bearing  trees 
and  shrubs;  orange  and  lemon,  bread-fruit,  tamarind,  mango,  ava- 
cado,  or  alligator  pear,  and  guava.  There  was  an  experimental  patch 

of  coiFee  trees  that  looked  thrifty  but  Mr.  did  not  think 

they  would  do  well  on  the  lowland,  adding  that  while  coffee  was  the 
most  profitable  product  of  the  Islands  the  area  upon  which  it  could 
be  gro^n  to  advantage  was  very  limited. 

After  our  return  to  the  house  you  disappeared,  and  when  you 
joined  us,  said  you  had  engaged  horses  and  that  we  would  start  for 
the  volcano  in  the  afternoon.  Our  host  advised  and  strongly  urged, 
that  we  wait  until  the  morrow,  get  off  early,  and  make  the  entire 
trip  in  a  day. 

The  distance  was  thirty  miles.  The  elevation  four  thousand  feet. 
There  was  a  half  way  house  and  you  argued  it  was  better  to  rest 

there  for  the  night.     Mr.  had  heard  of  such'  a  house  but 

had  never  known  anyone  to  stop  there  and  felt  sure  we  would  find 
it  an  uncomfortable  place;  then  seeing  that  you  were  not  to  be  per- 
suaded, hurried  our  departure  saying  we  would  need  all  the  time. 
We  had  the  wisdom  and  confidence  of  youth  and  jested  with  him 
over  needing  all  the  afternoon  of  a  long  sunmier  day  to  ride  fifteen 
miles.  Soon  after  luncheon  we  were  in  the  saddle,  our  kind  host 
urging  us  even  then  to  wait  until  the  morning.  As  we  started  he  gave 
you  the  same  warning  the  stableman  had  given  you,  to  watch  out  for 
the  cattle  being  driven  down  the  mountain. 

We  galloped  over  the  fertile  plain  in  high  spirits,  and  as  we 
began  the  first  gentle  incline  entered  a  tropical  jungle  of  indescrib- 
able beauty.  Tall  forest  trees  arched  overhead  with  vines  climbing 
to  the  very  top ;  interfaced  and  interwoven  they  formed  a  leafy  canopy 
so  compact  that  the  fierce  rays  of  a  tropical  sun  were  turned  into 
subdued  and  tender  light.  From  the  branches  of  the  trees  tendrils 
and  trailers  and  festoons  with  lovely  flowers,  including  orchids  in 
great  variety,  were  gracefully  swaying.  At  times  a  delightful  per- 
fume filled  the  air,  and  here  and  there  the  ground  was  thickty  strewn 
with  fallen  flowers,  as  though  gorgeous  colored  rugs  had  been  thrown 
about.  And  the  ferns,  the  beauty  and  variety  of  the  ferns !  Creeping 
ferns  that  carpetted  the  ground,  climbing  ferns  that  vined  around 
the  trunks  of  trees,  golden  ferns, — ferns  in  endless  variety  from  the 
tiniest,  to  the  tree  ferns  with  their  graceful  feathery  tops.  What  a 
very  paradise  of  ferns  it  was ! 

"  This  wonderful  jungle  was  perhaps  three  miles  in  length.     We 
entered  it  suddenly,  and  suddenly  emerged  from  it.     We  had  now 

Page  Thirty 


'«HnHHiiHniiiHniHMiiiMH<MiiHiiHiiiiHmmiiirHHiiiiiiimiHiNiimmnMnii»HiiMiiMiHHiH<iimiHiiniHiHi<inHHiHii«mm<HiiiwimiiHiHiHHH«niiiiHnH<miiiiHi^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

<tHiiiMiriiuiniHiiiiiuiiiHHiiHiiinHHUtininiMnHiHnniMiiHiiiniiiniiiiiiniiiiiiiiHHiiHiiiiiimMiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiMiiiuiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimii^ 

reached  the  mountain  side,  and  from  the  time  we  began  the  ascent 
on  that  smooth  pohshed  lava  trail,  until  we  reached  our  destination, 
the  poor,  nervous  horses  were  slipping  constantly,  often  falling  on 
their  knees,  scrambling  up  only  to  fall  again,  and  so,  slipping  and 
scrambling,  on  and  up  we  went.  Several  times  warned  by  the  cries  of 
the  drivers,  we  drew  our  horses  far  as  possible  from  the  trail  to  let  a 
band  of  wild  cattle  pass,  as  they  came  tearing  down  the  mountain 
side  like  an  avalanche.  We  had  one  terrifying  experience  when  at  an 
abrupt  bend  where  the  trail  was  narrow,  we  saw  a  band  of  these 
dreadful  beasts  bearing  down  upon  us,  and  with  scant  time  to  reach 
a  place  of  safety  it  seemed  as  though  we  must  be  swept  away  by  them. 

We  met  many  natives.  They  always  saluted  us  pleasantly  while 
waiting  beside  the  trail  for  us  to  pass,  for  those  toiling  up  the  moun- 
tain had  the  right  of  way. 

We  saw  one  group  of  Hawaiians  that  afternoon  that  we  long 
remembered.  An  oldish  man  and  three  very  pretty  young  girls.  On 
their  heads  were  wreaths  made  of  some  vine  with  small  glossy  leaves 
and  red  berries,  and  with  loose  garlands  of  the  same  around  their 
shoulders  the  eiFect  was  charming.  As  we  slowly  passed  them  we 
saw  three  pairs  of  sparkling  eyes,  there  pairs  of  rosy  lips  with  gleam- 
ing white  teeth  between,  and  heard  three  musical  voices  give  us  the 
friendly  greeting:  "Aloha." 

As  the  day  wore  toward  its  close,  there  was  complete  and  oppres- 
sive solitude,  with  not  a  sound  but  that  of  our  horses'  iron  shoes 
striking  the  lava  trail  as  we  went  laboriously  on.  We  were  both 
tired.    I  very  tired,  and  we  longed  to  reach  our  resting  place. 

At  half -past  seven,  seven  and  a  quarter  hours  from  the  time  we 
left  Hilo,  we  came  upon  a  bit  of  level  ground,  in  the  midst  of  which 
stood  the  half-way  house.  Our  goal!  The  place  we  had  been  im- 
patient to  reach.  The  shabbiest  and  most  dilapidated  of  grass  huts! 
Before  it,  several  men,  a  woman  and  a  lot  of  unkempt  children.  As 
we  drew  up  our  horses  one  of  the  men  came  forward. 

You  asked  if  that  was  his  place,  and  when  he  answered  "Yes" 
told  him  we  wanted  supper,  a  night's  lodging  and  good  care  for  our 
horses.  He  said  something  to  his  wife  in  the  native  tongue,  upon 
which  she  and  the  children  armed  themselves  with  sticks  and  began 
chasing  a  luckless  fowl,  while  we  went  on  a  tour  of  inspection. 

We  found  that  the  house  consisted  of  two  rooms.  One  had  a 
table  and  some  stools;  presumably  the  dining  room.  The  other  room 
was  long  and  narrow  with  a  bank  running  the  entire  length,  com- 
posed of  ferns  and  grasses  packed  hard  from  long  usage.     It  was 

Page  Thirty-one 


iiinmniiinMiiMnriniiniiiMnnrniMHiHniiiiHiiiiriiuuMuiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiHiiinniiiiiiiniriiiMrrniriniMnMiiiniiiMniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinriiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiniii iiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiniiiuiniuiiniuniiiininiiMiiiiiiunniniiMrHminnnniiiiinniitiiHiniuiiiiiiuiniiiiiiiuiiiMiniNnimiiiNiiMnriniiiiiiuiiiMiiiiiiiiiniiiiiMiiniininniniiiiiiiiJiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiin 

about  three  feet  in  height  held  in  place  by  rough  boards.  A  coarse 
open  meshed  sacking  was  stretched  over  it,  and  upon  it  some  gaudy 
colored  coverlets — the  sleeping  room  of  the  half-way  house! 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  our  supper  was  ready.  Some  sour, 
soggy?  fried  cakes  of  what  we  took  to  be  poi,  and  that  unfortunate 
fowl.  The  skin  had  been  torn  from  the  poor  thing.  It  had  been  cut 
in  pieces  without  regard  to  joints.  It  lay  in  a  watery  gravy,  a  most 
unpalatable  looking  dish.  The  flesh  was  so  firrti  and  hard  that  a  fork 
could  not  penetrate  it,  and  our  knives  slipped  from  it  as  from  glass. 
Ruefully  we  remembered  how  our  Hilo  host  had  urged  us  to  carry 
something  to  eat  at  the  half-way  house.  "Where  there  are  hens  there 
should  be  eggs"  said  my  dear  philosopher,  and  calling  the  landlord 
we  soon  had  a  half  dozen  boiled  eggs  upon  which  to  make  our  supper. 

Returning  later  from  a  stroll  we  came  upon  the  family  picking 
the  bones  of  that  ancient  bird.  It  was  now  quite  dark.  We  decided 
to  retire,  get  what  rest  we  could,  and  be  ready  for  the  following  day's 
hard  work.  A  bowl  of  cocoanut  oil  from  which  a  lighted  wick  pro- 
truded had  been  put  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  It  gave  a  dim,  murky 
light,  and  filled  the  place  with  smell  and  smoke.  We  chose 
our  places  against  the  wall  at  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room.  We 
talked  of  the  charming  guest  room  at  Hilo  and  lay  down.  Almost 
at  once  you  fell  asleep,  but  the  buzzing  of  insects  and  the  fear  that 
fleas,  and  possibly  other  troublesome  things  lurked  in  that  strangely 
fashioned  bed  kept  me  awake,  and  soon  a  sensation  as  of  something 
now  and  again  falling  upon  me  made  the  conditions  impossible  to 
endure. 

I  woke  you  reluctantly.  You  listened  to  my  statement,  said  it 
could  only  be  fancy,  but  when  I  persisted,  you  struck  a  match,  and 
there,  suspended  directly  over  me  was  a  newspaper  bundle,  over 
which  dozens  of  large  roaches  were  crawling  and  crowding,  while 
those  that  had  fallen,  were  scurrying  away  from  the  light  in  all 
directions.  We  were  still  the  only  occupants  of  the  bed,  and  we 
changed  our  location  to  the  other  wall. 

As  the  night  wore  on,  I  knew  from  the  movements  I  heard  that 
a  row  of  human  beings  were  stretched  out  upon  that  primitive  bed. 
Deep  breathing  and  snores  filled  the  air.  Soon  as  the  gray  dawn 
appeared,  one  by  one  our  bed  fellows  arose,  were  silhouetted  against 
the  open  spaces  of  the  hut  and  went  their  way  When  you  awoke, 
we  were  the  only  occupants  of  the  room  and  bed. 

We  breakfasted  on  eggs,  fried  poi  and  a  concoction  the  landlord 
said  was  tea^  but  you  could  not  persuade  him  to  show  the  material  of 

Page  Thirty-two 


iiiiMHimiiMitiiiiHimMwitiMninHiminimiHHiriHNriiiitmmmiiuuiMmiiNiHiHHMMmimuHninmwmmmininMimuuiMiHHmuHiiHiHimHNiHUtmmHniiHiiiHHMHiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

8IIMIMIIUtllUIHIIIINIinHmHUIHHIIIimHIHHHWIIIIIIHnirttmHmniHHIUIUIHtllniHlllllunillUUmiHMtHmini»lllltWltlUUUIIHWWHII»HUWHHMIHIiniUHMIIIIIIIIinnmHIUtt^ 

which  it  was  made.  You  told  of  our  experience  of  the  night.  He 
explained  that  the  package  attacked  by  the  keen  scented  roaches  con- 
tained food  that  a  native  walking  across  the  country  was  carrying 
with  him;  also  that  the  hanging  of  something  on  one  of  the  hooks 
placed  over  the  bed,  pre-empted  the  space  beneath;  so,  but  for  the 
falling  of  the  big,  black  roaches,  we  should  have  trespassed  on  the 
rights  of  a  fellow  traveler. 

Directly  after  breakfast  we  were  under  way.  Our  horses  must 
have  fared  well  for  they  were  fresh  and  ready  for  work.  The  lava 
trail  was  steep  and  trying  but  there  were  frequent  level,  restful 
reaches,  groves  of  cocoanut  trees  and  meadows  where  the  wild  cattle 
fed.  The  morning  was  without  incident  or  interest  except  that  we 
passed  through  a  forest  of  tree  ferns  of  wonderful  size  and  beauty. 
On  their  graceful  stems  the  stately  trees  stood  fully  thirty  feet  in 
height.  They  were  like  palms  but  far  more  beautiful  with  their 
drowns  of  large  delicate  lace-like  leaves. 

.  The  Volcano  House  was  not  only  comfortable,  but  remarkably 
pretty  and  picturesque.  The  proprietor,  owner,  architect  and  builder 
was  very  proud  of  it,  and  told  us  there  was  not  a  nail  used  in  its 
construction,  the  parts  being  bound  together  by  strong  fiber  grasses 
that  were  everywhere  plentiful.  The  plaiting  of  the  grass  that 
formed  the  sides  of  the  house  was  a  work  of  art,  done,  he  said,  by  his 
wife,-  whom  we  did  not  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing.  This  ingenious 
man  had  planted  on  three  sides,  occasional  bamboo  trees,  and  while 
the  tops  waved  gracefully  above,  the  trunks  served  as  a  firm,  solid 
support  on  which  to  anchor  the  grass  thatched  roof,  and  every  other 
part  of  this  unique  habitation. 

The  edge  of  the  crater  was  only  a  few  yards  away  and  directly 
after  lunch,  with  a  native  guide,  we  made  our  way  towards  it,  but 
when  we  looked  down  that  three  hundred  feet  of  precipitous  wall  my 
heart  quailed.  There  was  an  obscure  path  pointed  out  by  the  guide 
and  we  were  soon  following  it.  Stunted  trees  and  shrubs  were  grow- 
ing about  the  rim,  and  for  some  little  distance  below,  and  these  served 
us  well.  When  they  gave  out  we  clung  to  ferns,  grass,  vines,  any- 
thing we  could  grasp  so  long  as  vegetation  remained,  and  then  to 
ridges  and  projections  of  lava  im^til  we  stood  upon  the  floor  of  the 
crater. 

A  hideous,  desolate,  vast  area  of  black  lava  in  hillocks  of  varying 
size.  For  three  miles  we  followed  a  rough,  undulating,  uncanny  trail 
that  gave  out  an  unpleasantly  hollow  sound  beneath  our  feet,  and 
made  frequent  detours  to  avoid  places  in  the  crust  too  thin  to  sustain 

Page  Thirty-ttiree 


iiiHHiiiiniiiHiiiiiinnniiniiiMtniniMiMtuiiniiinninnininniiniiinnitunHtitiiiiHiimnnnHiiinnn»iniiHinMniiininiiiinniiniininiiiininnn»iiinMiMitiinnniinMniHniniiim 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiiinMiniinunitiiiiiiiiiiininiiiniiuirinriiuniininHnuiniuiiiiniininniHiiniiMiiuiiniiniiuiuiHiiiiiinmnuiuiiuiinniumiiuiuniiinniiniiiininniniMiiiiuuniUHniiMininin 

a  person's  weight.  On  every  side  were  fissures  emitting  sulphurous 
gasses,  and  looking  into  their  depths  we  could  see  the  gleam  of  angry 
fire.  The  guide  carried  a  handful  of  sticks  and  one  thrust  down  any 
of  these  chasms,  and  held  there  for  a  few  seconds  would  always  be 
brought  up  alight.  The  trail  ended  abruptly  at  a  wall  of  lava,  which 
was  a  rim,  this  crater  within  a  crater  had  thrown  around  itself.  We 
clambored  up  this  rim  and  saw  some  fifty  feet  below  the  Lake  of 
Fire;  irregular  in  shape,  a  half  mile  across  at  the  widest  point.  A 
seething,  raging,  surging,  bubbling,  restless,  wrinkled,  molten  mass 
from  which  came  clouds  of  sulphurous  vapor,  and  at  intervals  foun- 
tains of  liquid  lava  shot  up  into  the  air  far  above  where  we  were 
standing.  A  weird,  terrible,  awe-inspiring,  wonderful  sight!  In 
Hawaiian  Mythology  the  abode  of  Pele,  the  dreadful  Goddess  of 
Fire!  Awful  and  terrifying  as  it  was  to  look  upon,  there  was  a 
fascination  in  watching  the  movement  upon  the  surface  of  this  seeth- 
ing cauldron.  The  colors  were  dull  and  dark  except  where  sunlight 
rested  upon  the  constantly  shifting  mass,  and  brought  out  dim 
iridescent  hues.  We  wanted  very  much  to  wait  until  darkness  fell 
and  turned  the  dark  somber  mass  into  garish  colors,  but  we  remem- 
bered the  three  miles  of  uncanny  trail,  and  the  three  hundred  feet  of 
precipitous  scramble  from  the  floor  of  the  quiescent  crater,  and  turned 
reluctantly  away.  From  our  room  in  the  hotel  all  through  that  night 
we  saw  clouds  of  blood  red  vapor,  and  intermittent  jets  of  liquid 
blood  red  lava  shooting  up  into  the  air  from  Pele's  House  of  Ever- 
lasting Fire. 

The  following  morning  we  were  off  in  good  season.  At  the 
half-way  house  we  stopped  for  a  few  moments'  rest.  We  had  prom- 
ised ourselves  to  loiter  through  the  lovely  jungle,  but  we  had  not 
taken  into  consideration  the  wishes  of  our  horses;  They  could  not  be 
coaxed  or  scolded  into  loitering,  but  instead,  champed  at  their  bits, 
danced  and  tossed  their  heads  We  felt  grateful  to  them,  for  they 
had  given  us  without  mishap,  a  wild  ride  down  the  mountain  side  and 
over  the  treacherous  lava  trail.  You  said  that  they  slid  down  the 
steepest  places,  but  however  that  may  be,  we  drew  rein  at  the  now 
familiar  house  in  Hilo  at  noon. 

Dear  Mr. gave  us  the  warmest  and  friendliest  of  wel- 
comes and  said  he  was  just  then  speculating  as  to  what  hour  he  might 
begin  to  look  for  us. 

It  was  indeed  a  dilapidated  appearance  that  we  presented.  Our 
clothing  had  been  often  wet  by  tropical  showers,  and  as  often  dried 
by  the  tropical  sun.     Our  boots  and  gloves  were  destroyed  from 

Page  Thirty-four 


iiiiiHniiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiiininHiiiinMMnMuiiuiuinitiiiiiiiHniiiiiiniiinMiiniitiiniiiniiiiiiiMinininniiniiiiiiiiniuiiiiuiiiiniiiiiiniiiiHiiniiiuKiimiuiiiiiiuiiiiuinmu^ 

MEMORIES        —        SOME        OF        MANY 

ninuinuinniiinniiMUiMiiniiiiiiuniMiiHiuniininNnnnnniiniiiniinMiiiniiniiiMinnniiiMiinninninriinnMiniiniiinNiiiNiiiiininMiiniiinuiiiiiiiiiiuiriuiinniimiiuuiiiiiuniniinimi 

contact  with  rough  lava  and  stones.  We  were  lame  and  bruised  from 
pounding  in  the  saddle  and  the  scramble  up  and  down  the  steep 
crater  side. 

Our  kind  hearted  host  said  that  after  such  a  trip  we  should 
try  the  Hawaiian  remedy  of  lomi-lomi  and  asked  our  consent  to 
send  for  an  elderly  native  woman  who  knew  the  art  to  perfection. 
The  treatment  consists  in  vigorous  manipulation  of  the  muscles  by 
kneading,  pinching  and  pounding.  We  were  ignorant  of  its  almost 
universal  use,  and  great  efficacy,  and  the  luxury  of  that  abundant 
stream  of  water  running  through  the  bath  tub  within  the  grounds 
appealed  to  us  more  strongly;  but  lomi-lomi  would  probably  have 
done  for  us  in  a  few  hours  what  nature  took  a  long  time  to  accom- 
plish. Worse  even  than  the  lameness  and  stiffness  was  the  painful 
sunburn  our  faces  had  suffered.  We  had  each  started  from  Hilo 
with  an  umbrella  tied  to  the  horn  of  the  saddle,  but  both  had  been 
brushed  off  and  lost  in  going  tlirough  the  dense  growth  of  the 
jungle,  and  the  pitiless  sun  had  shown  us  no  mercy. 

You  had  often  told  me  of  tropical  fruit  so  perishable  that  it  could 
only  be  enjoj^ed  where  it  was  grown  and  it  gave  you  great  pleasure 

to  find  in  Mr. 's  grounds  every  variety  with  which  as  a  boy 

you  were  familiar.  Some  cynic  has  said  that  fruit  of  this  class  is  al- 
ways in  one  of  three  conditions.  Green — not  quite  ripe- — or  rotten, 
but  in  Hilo  and  in  Honolulu  we  found  it  in  the  perfection  of  ripe- 
ness. Some  was  tasteless  and  insipid.  Some  perfectly  delicious  in 
flavor.  * 

The  morning  after  our  return  from  the  volcano,  you  spoke  of 
setting   out   to   make   enquiries    about   getting   back   to    Honolulu. 

Mr. told  you  the  Kilauea  had  resumed  service,  was  in  the 

Bay  of  Hilo  and  would  sail  that  afternoon  but  he  hoped  we  would 
stay  on  with  him  until  her  next  sailing,  ten  days  hence.  That  kind 
and  tempting  invitation  we  could  not  accept  because  of  limited  time. 

Mr.  complained  of  the  irony  of  fate;  when  he  had 

guests  that  he  wished  to  keep,  they  were  always  limited  for  time, 
whereas ;  he  then  told  us  of  the  subterfuges  to  which  he  and  his  friends 
had  resorted  to  rid  themselves  of  visitors  who  had  unlimited  time,  and 
found  Hilo  an  agreeable  place  in  which  to  spend  it. 

When  the  time  came  to  go,  Mr.  went  with  us  to  the 

landing  place.  Keeping  a  hand  of  each  in  his  clasp  as  the  good-bys 
were  said,  he  added :  "Always  hold  fast  to  your  beautiful  companion- 
ship as  the  best  thing  life  can  give  you."    He  would  not  listen  to  any 

Page  Thirty-five 


VNI  HHl  NNnfHHtlNHnHHHfHt  IHHIttMttl  HNN  N I  ItH  HH  HltN  HH  H  NIttHHHN  tNIIHMtNNHNHN  M  HHM  HIttltHt 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

•iiHwiiimmimHimiwmiHrNiHMtmmimiHmHnHiiwHinmHiHHiHHmiiHiimiiiitHniMHWumiimHHmiiHHimHmnHHMiiumumiHiHmimNiHmHmHtiimimmmmmtim^ 

word  of  thanks  and  appreciation  from  us,  saying  we  could  have  no 
idea  how  much  pleasure  our  little  visit  had  given  him.  He  waited 
until  we  had  clambered  from  the  row  boat  to  the  steamer's  deck, 
waved  a  farewell,  turned  and  walked  away,  all  our  hearts  going  out 
to  him  in  gratitude,  for  the  courtesy  and  friendly  warm-hearted 
kindness  given  us. 

As  we  left  the  Bay  of  Hilo  we  located  the  hospitable  roof  that 
had  sheltered  us,  the  jungle,  the  half-way  house,  the  volcano  with  a 
black,  heavy  smoke  cloud  hanging  over  it,  then  up,  and  up,  and  up 
until  our  eyes  rested  on  the  two  lofty  snow  crowned  mountain  tops, 
that  made  such  a  splendid  background  for  the  little  town  lying  at 
their  feet. 

The  Kilauea  was  a  poor  little  tub  of  less  than  four  hundred  tons 
burden.  Her  deck  swarmed  with  flower  wreathed,  flower  garlanded 
Kanakas,  their  dogs  and  food  supplies.  It  was  the  schooner  "Fanny" 
over  again,  on  a  larger  scale.  You  and  I,  and  a  young  doctor  from 
Honolulu  whom  we  had  met  there,  were  the  only  white  passengers,  in 
a  complement  of  two  hundred.  The  majority  were  Hawaiians,  with 
a  goodly  sprinkling  of  Chinese. 

Dr.  S came  at  once  to  speak  to  us,  and  asked  if  we  had 

seen  the  saloon.  He  told  us  that  we  would  find  it  impossible,  and 
suggested  that  we  allow  him  to  arrange  for  our  meals  on  deck,  and 
our  mattresses  brought  up  when  night  came.  By  this  time  we  were 
v|^ell  under  way  and  the  sea  disagreeably  choppy.  We  went  to  look  at 
the  saloon.  A  poorly  lighted,  poorly  ventilated  room  the  width  of 
the  boat.  A  table  with  remnants  of  lunch  still  upon  it.  A  double 
row  of  berths  on  each  side,  some  open,  others  with  curtains  drawn. 
A  number  of  sea  sick  passengers  and  a  nauseating  smell  of  food,  and 
polluted  air.  Dear  little  cabin,  all  our  own,  on  the  "Fanny"  what 
would  we  not  have  given  for  it  then!    We  hurried  back  to  the  deck 

and  gave  Dr.  S carte  blanche  to  do  for  us  what  he  could. 

In  this  way  every  one  we  met  in  the  Islands,  seemed  to  feel  a  per- 
sonal responsibility  for  our  well  being,  and  a  desire  to  show  us  every 
possible  kindness.  The  Doctor  reserved  for  us  the  best  places,  under 
a  small  strip  of  awning,  that  protected  a  portion  of  the  deck.  There, 
we  ate  our  indifl'erent  meals,  and  there  when  night  fell,  our  beds 
were  made  and  we  lay  down  to  rest,  with  our  heads  pillowed  on  the 
skylight.  Surrounded  by  that  motely  crowd  of  deck  passengers,  alien 
in  race  and  color,  we  were  indeed  glad  to  have  the  moral  support  and 
companionship  of  the  helpful,  cheerful  young  doctor. 

It  was  a  wretched  trip!     The  Kilauea  rolled  and  pitched  and 

Page  Thirty-six 


HHuimimHwtmMiHiwHwmtMiiHiMHiimwtMniwiiiimHimiuniHWNHmMMHHiiinnmmimiiiiiiiiiiimiiimiinniiniiiinimiinnMmHntiiHiniiMiHwnmiiiiHniiiHiuH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF        MANY 

WHHWHnHUiuuiuuiuiiiumiuiiiHumuuiuuiiiiiiuuwinininniiniiiminiiiiUMiiniiiniiuiuinuiniiinMiniintiiuiitiniiiiiuiiiiiHiiMuiHiuiiuiiiinHiiiHnMmuMiiHiiiiiunMiu 

floundered  where  the  sea  was  smooth,  and  in  the  channels  between 
the  islands  where  the  sea  was  rough  she  behaved  diabolically.  When 
at  the  close  of  the  day,  brown  and  worn  and  torn,  we  were  ashore  in 
Honolulu  and  back  in  our  comfortable  quarterjs,  where  smiling  faces 
and  cheerful  voices  gave  us  greeting,  we  were  glad  and  thankful. 
Glad  and  thankful  to  have  seen  the  largest  and  greatest  volcano  in 
all  the  World.  Glad  and  thankful  that  the  hardships  and  discomforts 
attending  it  had  all  been  overcome.  We  had  long  since  ceased  to 
wonder  at  the  surprise  expressed  at  our  undertaking  the  trip,  and 
also  at  the  fact  that  of  all  the  people  we  had  met  in  Honolulu  none, 
with  one  exception  had  seen  the  volcano,  the  exception  being  the 
young  doctor  of  whom  I  have  written. 

Twenty-five  years  after  our  visit  the  Hawaiian  Government  be- 
gan the  construction  of  a  road  from  Hilo  to  the  volcano.  The 
government  also  made  a  zig-zag  bridle  path  on  the  precipitous  wall 
of  the  crater  and  visitors  could  do  their  scrambhng  up  and  down  on 
the  back  of  a  sure  footed  horse. 

In  recent  years  we  often  talked  of  re-visiting  the  Islands  and 
the  volcano.  Had  we  gone,  how  different  our  experience  would  have 
been.  We  should  have  sailed  into  the  lovely  Hilo  Bay  on  a  large  ocean 
liner,  stepped  ashore  on  a  commodious  wharf,  and  gone  to  one  of  the 
fine,  fashionable  hotels.  Then  from  Hilo  to  the  volcano  an  automo- 
bile would  have  carried  us.  We  should  have  found  the  Volcano 
House  a  showy,  tourist  frequented  caravansery  numbering  among 
its  luxuries  Turkish  and  sulphur  baths  fed  from  Nature's  own  labora- 
tory. From  the  hotel  we  should  have  been  taken  by  automobile  quite 
around  the  quiescent  crater  to  the  Lake  of  Fire,  the  home  of  the  God- 
dess Pele — the  only  thing  unchanged  in  all  the  intervening  years! 

The  Native  population  interested  us  very  much.  How  we 
enjoyed  the  incident  when  for  the  first  time  we  saw  the  National, 
universal  dish  of  "poi"  eaten.  A  few  blocks  from  our  house,  at  a 
street  crossing,  a  large  tree  stood  at  the  corner  of  a  vacant  lot,  and 
passing  there  one  day  at  noon  we  saw  under  its  shade  a  group  of 
men,  women  and  girls,  seated  tailor  fashion,  on  the  ground  around  a 
large  calabash  of  "poi."  They  were  talking  and  laughing  and  dip- 
ping the  fingers  of  the  right  hand  in  the  pasty  mass  which  they 
dexterously  conveyed  to  their  mouths.  It  was  such  a  novel  sight 
that  we  could  not  refrain  from  stopping  to  look  at  them  and  were 
glad  to  find  that  our  curiosity  neither  disturbed  nor  annoyed  them. 
That  nearby  shade  tree  was  a  favorite  lounging  place  with  the 
Natives.     There,   one  afternoon,  we   saw  the  first  of  the  sociable 

Page  Thirty-seven 


miiinmminiiHinHniimnmiiHiiHMiimminiiniiiiiiMniiwtttiinnmiitNHHHimmirmimimniniimtinniiimitiiiHiniHimniiimiiinriHnmniiiirmmnniiiniiiiiinmiiiM 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

niiMiiiiniiHniMiiiiiiiniiiiiiMiuMiinniiiiniiiiiiHrinimiiiiiiiinitriiiiinHiiiiiimiMMtiiiiiiMiiiniiniiiiiitHiiiiiHiniinMniniiiiMinuninniiiiMiHiimiiHnimiiiMuiiiiiiNi^ 

smoking  parties  that  later  became  a  familiar  sight.  Several  women 
with  perhaps  one  or  two  young  girls  seated  in  a  circle  on  the  ground 
and  smoking  from  one  pipe,  each  in  turn  taking  two  or  three  whifFs 
and  passing  it  to  the  one  sitting  next.  When  the  pipe  was  empty  it 
would  quickly  be  refilled,  relighted  and  continued  on  its  journey 
around. 

But  it  was  the  Nuuanu  Valley  and  the  Pali  road,  on  Saturday 
afternoon,  the  gala  day  of  the  week,  that  the  natives  were  seen  at 
their  best.  Every  man  and  woman  who  could  get  a  horse  by  hook 
or  by  crook  would  be  there.  The  men  with  flowers  wreathed  around 
the  bands  of  their  hats,  and  closely  woven  necklaces  of  flowers  around 
their  dusky  throats;  the  women  with  freshly  made  wreaths  and  gar- 
lands of  the  brightest  bloom.  On  they  sped  by  hundreds.  The  waving 
motion  of  the  long,  wide  orange  or  scarlet  saddlecloths,  the  merry 
peals  of  laughter,  the  animated  talk,  the  dash  and  abandon,  taken 
altogether  made  a  unique  spectacle.  It  was  the  Natives'  day  and  the 
Natives'  road  and  few  of  the  foreign  residents  cared  to  dispute  it. 

We  were  in  the  very  hey  day  of  our  visit  when  Captain  Floyd 
came  on  the  Idaho,  and  in  the  mail  was  a  business  letter  for  you  of 
such  importance,  that  you  wished  to  reach  San  Francisco  as  soon  as 
possible.  The  Idaho  would  not  sail  for  ten  days,  but  a  full-rigged, 
merchant  sailing  ship  would  go  on  the  following  day,  and  on  her  you 
engaged  our  passage.  Great  was  my  regret  to  miss  the  many  things 
to  which  I  had  looked  forward  with  pleasure.  Queen  Emma's  garden 
party,  croquet  parties  and  an  excursion  to  a  beach  to  see  surf  bathing, 
something  we  missed  altogether.  We  had  a  busy  time  packing,  pay- 
ing visits  and  writing  notes.  In  the  evening  we  went  with  a  party  to 
see  the  famous  hulu  dances  for  which  we  did  not  much  care. 

A  large  delegation  went  with  us  to  the  wharf  to  say  farewell. 
The  ship  lay  far  off  in  the  harbor.  When  we  were  seated  in  the  row- 
boat  our  flowers  were  thrown  after  us,  and  fairly  buried  in  their 
bloom,  pleasant  voices  calling  out  affectionate  good-bys,  we  rowed 
away.  With  as  many  flowers  as  we  could  carry,  we  climbed  up  the 
ship's  ladder  to  the  deck.  We  looked  towards  the  wharf,  but  alas! 
the  familiar  forms  and  friendly  faces  were  lost  to  view.  The  anchor 
was  raised,  the  sails  unfurled ;  all  too  soon  the  picturesque  shore  grew 
dim,  and  gradually  Diamond  Head,  the  Punchbowl  and  Tantahis 
Mountain  faded  away. 

"Oh,  Dear  Heart,"  said  I,  "what  a  good  time  we  did  have.'* 
"Yes,"  you  answered,  "but  the  end  had  to  come,"  and  we  talked  of 
the  warm-hearted,  cultured,  charming  people  who  had  been  so  kind 

Page  Thirty-eight 


miiiiimMtiiinniiiiHiiiiiiiiinininiMiiiittiiiiiinirniiiMinimiiiHninriiiumiiiruiiiiiMiimmiMiiKHHHmiimHiniiiiiMmiMMMNnnitiiniiiiniii»m»HUiimiHiMnMiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

niiiiiiiiiniitiiiiiiiininininHiniiiininiiiiinuiMnniiuiniHiuiiiiiiimmiiiiHiniuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitniuiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiriininiitiiiiiiiiHiiiiHiiiMiiiiiMi^ 

to  us;  who  lived  such  simple,  beautiful,  unostentatious  lives  under 
sunny  skies,  surrounded  by  Nature's  most  prodigal  gifts.  We  hoped 
we  were  only  saying  au  revoir  and  not  good-by  forever.  I^ong 
after  the  highest  peaks  had  vanished  from  our  view,  we  heard  in 
fancy,  softly  singing  in  our  ears  the  Hawaiian  farewell,  called  out  to 
us  from  the  wharf  as  we  rowed  away  in  the  little  boat,  Aloha-oe! 
Aloha-oe!  Aloha-oe! 

Right  here  my  "ever-ready  pencil"  signally  failed.  It  made  no 
record  of  the  Captain's  name,  or  of  the  ship's  name.  Only,  that  we 
carried  a  cargo  of  raw  sugar ;  that  the  ship  was  infested  with  rats ; 
that  the  motion  under  full  sail  was  remarkably  steady,  and  that  the 
time  made  in  returning  was  but  a  few  hours  more  than  that  of  the 
Idaho  in  going. 

The  eccentricities  of  memory  who  can  understand!  The  inci- 
dents connected  with  going  to  the  Islands  and  our  stay  there  are 
clear-cut  without  any  blurring  of  edges,  but  the  return  is  almost  a 
blank.  In  twelve  days  the  Captain  and  his  ship  must  have  become 
familiar  objects,  yet  I  cannot  conjure  up  the  slightly  memory  of 
either,  or  any  incident,  with  the  one  exception  of  the  rodents. 

We  occupied  the  only  cabin  reserved  for  passengers  and  the  first 
morning  after  sailing,  I  told  you  there  were  rats  in  the  mattress  of 
my  berth.  You  laughed  and  said:  "Nerves  and  fancies,  dear, 
not  rats." 

"Will  you  let  me  have  the  upper  berth  tonight?"  I  asked. 

You  answered  "No;  but  come  to  breakfast  and  forget  the 
night." 

I  did  not  forget  and  when  the  steward  went  to  our  cabin  I  fol- 
lowed and  told  him  my  suspicions.  "It  may  well  be"  he  said,  "since 
we  have  not  carried  a  passenger  for  months,"  and  taking  a  stout  stick 
he  rolled  under  the  berth.  Almost  at  once  a  large  rat  ran  out,  and 
then  another.  The  steward  followed  and  began  threshing  about 
with  his  stick. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  I  asked.  "Kill  them,  or  they  will 
always  be  finding  their  way  back."  "Please,  steward,"  said  I,  "first 
let  me  get  out  of  the  way." 

I  jumped  down  from  the  chair  on  which  I  was  standing 
and  soon  found  you ;  told  what  was  happening  in  our  cabin  and  asked : 
"Now  what  do  you  say  to  nerves  and  fancies?"  "Now  I  say  rats," 
you  answered.  We  laughed  then,  and  we  laughed  many  times  there- 
after over  the  incident. 

Page  Thirty-nine 


WMtiHiMnMMiiM«MiMMinHMniimiHtiiHnt«H»ii»HwinMMiwiiiwwiiHMtiiiHiiMM»tiiiiuw«Mitimtimwwwttmmtnwwii«mMniiiwimHiwi^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

IIHIHniNINtNIHIIIIIMlnilllHIIIUIHIIItHHIIIIIIItlHIWIIUIIUIIIUmiMIUIUHIIIIIMIIIMmHUIWMUIUIIUHIIIIIIHHinimMIIIIWHHIIUIIIHIIHrimnHIIUIimimiHIIUnmiUI^ 

We  had  been  away  from  San  Francisco  eight  weeks.  Upon 
our  return,  busy  though  you  were,  the  prosaic,  dusty,  fog-laden, 
wind-swept  streets  were  a  trial  to  us  both.  We  longed  for  the  sun- 
warmed,  flower-scented  air  and  the  shady  streets ;  we  missed  our  new- 
found friends  and  we  missed  the  dusky  maidens  with  flower- wreathed 
heads  and  bare-brown  feet,  in  their  bright-colored  Mother  Hubbard 
gowns.  O  dusky  Hawaiian  maidens!  Aloha-oe!  for  only  in  our 
dreams  were  we  ever  again  to  behold  thee! 


Page  Forty 


MHmmmiiiHimiiNMimHmiimiiiHiiHtiniiiiiiHiiimttmnHiiiinHmniiimHimMHtHiiiiiHiuiminiiiminiwHiHimHttMHHiHiiNNiiiHimtiMHia^ 

MEM  OR  lES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

aHHUmiHHUUIIUUIIIIHIIHIUIIHHMIUIUIIIHIIHINIHIINIIIlnilllHniinMIIUIIIHIHIimmnilUmimilHIHHIIIIHIIIUIIIUMIHIIHIHIIIHIIWHIIUIHJUIUIIMIUIW^ 

PART  THREE 

THE  SPRING  following  our  visit  to  the  Hawaiian  Islands  you 
came  home  one  day  with  your  face  all  aglow,  and  that  unmistak- 
able air  that  I  knew  so  well  of  having  something  unusual,  or 
perhaps  important  to  tell  me.  I  knew,  too,  from  experience,  that  the 
less  curiosity  I  betrayed  the  sooner  I  should  hear  the  cause,  and  it 
soon  came  in  the  question,  "What  would  you  think  of  our  going  to 
Europe  for  a  year?" 

"Going  to  Europe  for  a  year?"  I  repeated,  "it  would  take  my 
breath  away  if  I  thought  you  were  in  earnest." 

Then  you  told  me  that  you  were  in  earnest — that  you  had 
thought  of  it  all  through  the  winter  but  determined  not  to  mention  it 
to  me  until  you  had  fully  decided. 

"But  can  we  afford  it?"  I  asked. 

You  said  you  thought  so — you  spoke  of  some  investments  you 
had  made ;  that  the  Savings  Banks  were  paying  twelve  per  cent  inter- 
est, and  then  laughingly  you  told  me  of  a  boy  you  had  once  known 
who  sang  a  song  about  the  Mississippi  Boatmen — you  had  forgotten 
all  but  one  line,  and  that  ran, 

"He  spends  his  money  and  he  works  for  more," 

and  you  had  made  up  your  mind  that  you  would  do  the  same  thing. 
Of  course  such  specious  argument  could  not  fail  to  convince  me 
that  going  to  Europe  for  a  year,  on  a  very  limited  capital,  was  just 
the  right  and  proper  thing  to  do.  In  later  years  we  realized  what  an 
ill-advised,  imprudent,  improvident  act  it  was,  because  our  point  of 
view  had  changed.  Then,  we  had  the  unbounded  enthusiasm  and 
hopefulness  of  youth.    It  was  still  for  us 

"The  hour  of  splendor  in  the  grass,  of  beauty  in  the  flower," 

and  the  experience  of  that  year  in  the  Old  World,  with  its  happy, 
lasting  memories,  was  forever  after  a  part  of  our  lives. 

We  were  reading  Washington  Irving's  Alhambra,  and  my  first 
question,  when  I  realized  that  we  really  were  going  abroad,  was, 
"And  shall  we  see  the  Alhambra?"  You  answered,  "I  hope  so,"  and 
go  to  Rome?  and  Florence?  and  Paris?  and  London?  I  asked  eagerly. 

You  were  fully  engrossed  in  business  until  early  in  June;  then 
we  crossed  the  continent  by  the  recently  completed  Overland  Road. 

Page  Forty-one 


aniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitriiiiiitiirii iiimiiiiiiiMimiHinHHiinHuniinHiiMMHiiiiiniiiiiiiitiiiiiiHiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiniuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiitiiiiit 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit iiiiiiiiiiiiuiuiiiiiiiiiiii nmiiiiiiiimmimimiiminiiimmiiiHiiimmnniiminiiiiiiiiHi 

An  organ  of  five  thousand  pipes  had  just  been  finished  for  the 
Tabernacle  at  Salt  Lake  City,  and  wishing  to  hear  the  organ,  and  see 
the  famous  place,  you  made  arrangements  for  stopping  over.  We 
found  a  city  with  well  kept,  pleasantly  shaded  streets,  very  wide,  the 
blocks  tiresomely  long,  and  the  mountain  views  fine. 

After  dinner  I  went  to  put  on  my  hat,  for  our  usual  stroll,  and 
upon  re-joining  you,  found  you  engaged  in  animated  conversation 
with  a  gentlemen  to  whom  you  introduced  me — Mr.  Barnum — the 
gentleman  laughingly  adding  to  the  introduction  as  he  rose  and 
bowed,  "P.  T.  Barnum,  the  show-man." 

The  cigars  finished,  we  were  starting  for  our  walk ;  Mr.  Barnum 
asked  if  he  might  join  us,  and  a  more  genial,  entertaining,  interesting 
man  could  nowhere  have  been  found.  When  we  said  good-night  he 
told  us  he  was  going  by  appointment,  the  following  morning  to  see 
Brigham  Young  and  would  we  not  like  to  go  with  him.  We  accepted, 
and  on  Sunday,  at  ten  o'clock,  were  received  by  the  Mormon  leader. 
After  a  few  preliminary  and  general  remarks  there  was  a  lively 
conversation  between  the  two  men,  both  giants  in  their  way,  radiating 
physical  pow  er  and  mental  vigor. 

Then  came  a  lull,  broken  by  Mr.  Young  saying:  "Mr.  Barnum, 
I  can  tell  what  you  are  thinking  about." 

"You  might  try,"  said  Mr.  Barnum. 

"You  are  thinking  that  if  you  could  put  me  in  a  cage,  and  ex- 
hibit me  over  the  country,  what  a  fortune  you  might  make." 

Quick  as  a  flash  came  Mr.  Barnum's  answer:  "With  the  biggest 
show  on  earth,  of  course  I  would  make  a  fortune." 

In  the  midst  of  the  laughter  that  followed,  we  took  leave,  going 
to  the  Tabernacle.  We  heard  the  organ,  but  did  not  hear  Mr.  Young 
speak.  There  we  said  good-by  to  Mr.  Barnum  and  went  to  join  our 
train. 

We  spent  a  delightful  and  happy  summer  in  the  midst  of  a  large 
family  circle  in  my  old  home  in  Central  New  York.  Again  we  were 
boy  and  girl  together,  as  we  wandered  over  the  old  paths,  visited  the 
old  haunts,  and  listened  to  the  song  of  the  birds.  We  studied  guide 
books,  French  conversation  and  read  prose  and  poetry  that  related  to 
places  and  things  we  expected  to  see.  In  the  warm,  pleasant  even- 
ings, under  the  stars  and  the  trees,  we  would  watch  the  fireflies  flitting 
by  hundreds  around  us,  and  talk;  sometimes  the  talk  would  be  seri- 
ous, sometimes  full  of  merry  jest  and  laughter;  but  you.  Dear  Heart 
of  mine,  were  invariably  the  very  life  of  it  all. 

Page  Forty-two 


iiniimmmmmHHminmtnniimHHHHiHniHiHimHHniHmimnmHiiinmmiiuHmiiiimiiiiHiiinmimtnniiininiinnmHmiiHinninimttitmRimHHtiiitminimniiiiMiimnmm^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iinHniinHHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiitiiiniMiHiiiiHiiHiMiiiiiiHiNmniHuiiiiniiiiinuiiiimiiimMiuiiiiwiiiiiuuiiiiiuiimuinuuuumiiiiHiiiiHiiiiinmulm 


THE  DEAR  OLD  HOME" 


Fage  Forty-three 


itHiininiimiHHnmnnmHniHntnniimiininiimimimmiimiimtmiHffimNmmiminitmiiiimiimiimHimnminiminmimimwHiiiiiitiimiinnmmtti^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

HniiMuiMiiiiiiiiHHiiinitniiiuiMiiiiHiiiiMiHiHiMHuiiHHiniiimi<iiHiiHutimnmiimiMnmH4HHiH<imiHMiniuiiiiNiiiiMnmiiuniHmHiiiniimiiiHiiiMiiiiiiiHimHMiiiiHmiwiiiii^^^ 

When  the  time  came  to  go,  we  were  full  of  regret,  but  the  good- 
bys  were  said,  and  after  a  few  days  of  preparation  in  New  York,  we 
sailed  on  the  12th  of  October,  1870,  for  Queenstown,  on  the  steamer 
"Algeria"  of  the  Cunnard  Line,  returning  in  October  of  the  follow- 
ing year  on  a  sister  ship,  the  "Abyssinia."  These  vessels  were  new, 
the  "Algeria"  having  gone  into  service  within  the  year,  while  the 
"Abyssinia"  was  not  yet  launched.  They  were  steamers  of  3300  tons 
burden,  with  a  length  of  363  feet,  breadth  42  feet,  and  except  the 
Great  Eastern,  were  the  largest  steamers  then  afloat.  They  were 
adapted  for  the  use  of  sails,  but  strong  headwinds  deprived  the 
"Algeria"  of  any  aid  they  might  have  given  her,  and  with  a  rough 
sea  we  were  ten  days  in  crossing. 

I  proved  a  poor  sailor.  I  had  lunch  with  you  in  the  dining 
saloon,  while  still  in  New  York  harbor  but  all  other  meals  in  my 
berth. 

The  last  night  of  the  voyage,  about  ten  o'clock,  you  went  for 
your  usual  walk,  but  soon  came  back  to  say  that  all  the  passengers 
were  in  the  dining  saloon  celebrating  the  last  night  on  board  by  eat- 
ing "Welsh  rabbit"  and  drinking  ale — that  much  as  you  wanted 
some,  you  could  not  enjoy  it  without  my  company  and  would  I  join 
you  if  you  had  our  supper  brought  to  the  cabin;  and  there  the  steward 
soon  came  with  a  tray  for  each  of  us,  and  surely  no  two  passengers 
were  as  merry,  and  enjoyed  their  supper  as  much. 

Queenstown,  old  and  quaint  and  picturesque,  delighted  us,  and 
the  number  of  little  donkeys  surprised  and  amused  us.  What  inter- 
esting, wise  looking  little  creatures  they  were !  There  was  much  bray- 
ing among  them,  and  many  were  surely  justified  in  complaining, 
carrying  loads  out  of  all  proportion  to  their  size.  To  my  eyes  the 
funniest  looking  loads  carried  by  these  mites,  were  large,  burly  men 
whose  feet  dangled  on  the  ground.  They  never  sat  in  the  middle 
of  the  donkey's  back,  but  so  far  in  the  rear  that  it  was  a  mystery  how 
they  held  on. 

In  the  afternoon  we  took  a  train  for  Cork.  The  small  compart- 
ments of  the  cars  seemed  very  cramped  at  first.  The  road  followed 
closely  the  river  Lee  and  the  scenery  was  charming,  with  a  peculiar 
softness  over  everything.  Villas,  wooded  pleasure  grounds,  walls  and 
ruins  of  castles  covered  with  ivy,  and  lovely  lawns,  green  as  in  the 
freshness  of  early  spring. 

In  Cork,  the  many  bridges,  the  shops,  the  people — everything  we 
saw  was  full  of  interest.  Most  of  the  women  wore  the  Irish  cloak, 
made  of  black  or  dark  blue  cloth — long,  full  and  with  a  hood. 

Page  Forty-four 


MEM     Q~  j™*^  ";;;_  ~^     ^—.^——..n.^nn^^^,    ^ 

Miai>mtmimHuiiimHwiwmHmiHimMniniMiiHiHiirHmmHimiiiiiiiHrnHitHiiMuiMiHiiiMii»iiWHiHiHiuiiiiummMi)ituHHiitHiuHiimiiiHNnHiiirHiiiiiiiiMiiiw<icHimii^ 

It  was  a  day  when  rain  and  sunshine  followed  one  upon  the  other 
in  quick  succession,  and  during  a  sudden  shower  we  stepped  under 
the  awning  of  a  small  fruit  and  vegetable  stand.  The  owner  came 
forward  thinking  we  wanted  to  buy  something,  and  you  explained 
that  we  were  taking  shelter  under  his  roof  from  the  rain.  With  a 
kindly  smile  he  gave  the  delightful  reply,  "An  'twere  a  palace  ye'd 
be  welcome  to  it." 

Sunday,  October  23,  we  awoke  to  the  sweet  chiming  of  Shandon 
church  bells  of  which  Father  Prout  sang, 

"The  bells  of  Shandon,  they  sound  so  grand  on, 
The  pleasant  water,  of  the  river  Lee." 

That  afternoon  we  drove  to  Blarney  Castle  in  a  jaunting-car, 
and  what  a  merry,  jolly  ride  we  had.  It  seemed  such  a  funny  little 
vehicle  to  us,  and  how  many  names  we  gave  it  as  we  went  along;  you 
giving  one  and  I  the  next.  It  was  the  jolting-car,  the  jerking-car, 
the  jarring-car,  the  jesting-car,  the  jumping-car,  the  jingling-car, — 
then  my  turn  came  and  I  could  think  of  no  other  word  beginning 
with  "j"  and  called  it  the  John  Bull  car. 

Upon  this,  the  driver,  who  had  been  laughing  most  of  the  time, 
said:    "Beggin'  yer  pardon,  lady,  it's  no  a  John  Bull  car." 

And  that  driver,  a  type  of  all  we  came  in  contact  with — drivers, 
guides,  boatmen  and  waiters — with  their  rich  brogue,  what  a  coaxing, 
wheedling  lot  they  were;  the  young  ones  wanting  to  marry  soon  as 
they  could  save  a  little  money — the  middle  aged  and  elderly  always 
had  large  famihes,  and  to  each  one,  an  extra  shilling,  or  even  a  sax- 
pence  would  be  »uch  a  help! 

Our  road  followed  the  winding  river  and  the  five  mile  drive  was 
delightful.  We  found  Blarney  Castle  a  picturesque,  ivy  covered 
ruin,  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  fine  grove  and  near  by,  a  pretty  lake, 
We  climbed  the  turret  of  the  Castle  and  I  was  leaning  over  to  kiss  the 
"blarney  stone"  some  feet  below.  In  the  effort,  I  lost  my  balance 
and  but  for  the  firm  hold  you  had  on  my  skirts — which  I  had  resented 
as  unnecessary — I  would  have  gone  head  first  to  the  ground.  I 
squirmed  and  wriggled,  and  you  pulled  and  at  last  I  was  on  my  feet. 
I  laughed,  but  you  were  very  serious,  and  said  it  was  not  a  laugh- 
ing matter. 

In  going  from  Cork  to  Killamey,  we  had  some  pretty  bits  of 
scenery  and  then  oyer  miles  and  miles  of  hideous  country.  Vast 
tracts  of  peat  and  bog-land  from  which  the  peat  had  been  removed, 

Page  Forty-five 


4HmiiiiirHiiuniiiiHHiiiniiiitiiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiimiiuiiiiiiiuumiiiiiiiiimiiiiMiiiiiHiiniiiiiiimiiiinHMHHHiiNiMHiiiimiiiHiiMnii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiiiiiriiiiniimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiuiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiuii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuimiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiniiiiiiiiiHiiiiiH 

leaving  no  green  in  that  part  of  the  "Emerald  Isle."  Dotted  thickly 
over  this  dreary  region  were  squalid  huts — not  fit  for  human  habita- 
tion— where  men,  women  and  children  in  large  numbers  were  moving 
about. 

At  Killarney  we  made  our  first  real  acquaintance  with  Irish 
beggars.  We  had  met  a  few  in  Queenstown  and  in  Cork,  but  in 
Killarney  they  swarmed.  And  such  clothing!  If  rags  and  tatters 
could  be  called  clothing !  You  recalled  what  Foote  said,  when  return- 
ing from  a  visit  to  Ireland  he  was  asked  what  he  thought  of  the  Irish 
peasantry.  He  did  not  know  that  he  had  an  answer  to  that  question, 
but  he  had  solved  a  problem  that  had  been  a  constant  plague  to  him, 
and  he  now  knew  what  the  English  beggars  did  with  their  cast-ofF 
clothes. 

In  the  two  mile  drive  from  Killarney  to  the  Lakes  fully  twenty 
beggars  followed  our  carriage.  iVnd  how  they  could  run !  You  gave 
them  all  the  coppers  you  had,  but  refused  to  buy  any  of  the  rubbishy 
things  many  had  for  sale;  but  when  near  our  destination,  at  my  re- 
quest, you  bought  a  shillalah  of  a  girl  who  had  run  beside  us,  easily 
keeping  up  with  the  carriage  when  the  horses  were  on  a  brisk  trot. 
She  was  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  of  fine  physique  and  beautiful 
complexion.  Her  tattered  skirts  ended  at  the  knees,  and  from  there 
her  legs  and  feet  were  bare.  Poor  girl,  and  so  pretty!  I  always  saw 
her  bright,  rosy  face  when  I  looked  at  my  shillalah,  and  felt  sorry, 
when  in  some  way,  flitting  from  place  to  place,  I  lost  it. 

Those  Irish  beggars!  What  a  healthy,  wholesome  looking  lot 
they  were!    Of  the  submerged  tenth,  the  first  that  we  had  ever  seen! 

The  lakes  of  Killarney  encircled  by  soft,  purple  mountains  and 
dotted  with  islands  were  beautiful,  and  the  vegetation  a  delight. 
Majestic  yews  and  such  lovely  holly  and  arbutus  trees.  As  we  were 
passing  Innisf alien  Island  the  boatman  said:  "There's  the  biggest 
holly  tree  in  all  the  wurruld  so  people  say,"  and  we  had  no  reason  to 
doubt.  Over  forty  feet  in  height,  perfectly  symmetrical,  with  a 
spread  of  branch  that  gave  a  great  circumference,  and  loaded  with 
large  clusters  of  bright,  red  berries  it  was  a  thing  of  beauty.  And 
the  arbutus  trees  were  equally  beautiful!  On  Arbutus  Island  where 
they  stood  in  graceful  clumps,  nothing  could  have  been  lovelier  than 
the  crimson,  exquisitely-frosted,  strawberry-like  fruit  hanging  in 
bunches  beneath  the  shining,  green  leaves. 

The  echoes  for  which  the  Lakes  are  famous  were  delightful.  At 
the  "Eagle's  Nest,"  a  cliff  that  rose  many  hundred  feet  above  the 

Page  Forty-six 


ainiiiniiiiiiiiiiinimiiiinuiiuiinininiiniiiiiniiiniinnuiuiiinnMiiiiiiiiiiniiiHiiiiiiNiiMiitiiiniiniiiiiiuninniinnniiHiiiiiiiintiiiuniiiiiiiniiiimiiiiiiuiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiu^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

ilimiiiiininiiiiiiiniiiiiuiiiiniiHiiiiniiiiiiHiHiniiiHinininnniiinimiiiHiiMimiiniiiiiiriiiiuniiiitiiiiiiiiiiiinuiiinnMiiiiniiiinimiiiiiiiuMinininiiiiHiniiiitu^ 

water  we  lingered  long  and  musingly,  for  of  that  spot  it  was  that 
Tennyson  wrote  his, 

"Blow  bugles,  blow;  set  the  wild  echoes  flying.'" 

Our  boatman  had  a  horn  with  which  he  awoke  the  slumbering  echoes 
in  a  most  melodious  way.  Often  repeated,  loud  at  first,  then  dying 
away  to  exquisite  fairy  like  softness. 

We  went  to  Muckross  Abbey  and  were  deeply  impressed 
by  the  partly  restored  ruins  of  church  and  abbey,  and  the  crumbling 
walls  of  a  beautiful  cloister.  We  walked  across  the  park  to  see  a 
pretty  waterfall,  and  in  so  doing  passed  near  Muckross  Mansion,  a 
dignified  abode  of  the  Elizabethan  period. 

It  was  all  so  new  and  strange;  so  impressive  and  beautiful!  The 
ruins  of  church  and  abbey  and  cloister,  and  this  "stately  home  of 
England"  standing  in  a  great  expanse  of  park  and  on  a  velvety 
sward  under  majestic  trees  a  herd  of  deer. 

Coming  away  full  of  appreciation,  and  a  subdued  happiness, 
we  gave  expression  to  the  hope  that  each  of  us  might  long  retain 
that  sensation  of  enthusiastic  delight  which  animates  the  spirit  when 
looking  for  the  first  time  upon  objects  of  beauty  and  interest;  and  I 
am  thankful  to  remember.  Dear  Heart  of  mine,  that  during  all  the 
years  of  our  happy  life  together,  much  of  the  freshness  of  feeling  and 
enthusiastic  appreciation  of  younger  days  remained  with  us. 

At  the  Gap  of  Dunloe,  a  narrow  cleft  between  high  mountain 
crags  we  were  besieged  by  fully  a  dozen  ragged  men  and  boys  that 
seemed  to  have  sprung  from  out  the  ground  or  the  rocks,  so  suddenly 
did  they  appear.  Each  had  an  old  musket  and  each  wanted  saxpence 
for  firing  it  off  that  we  might  hear  the  echoes.  They  were  rough  and 
clamorous  and  unruly.  Our  guide  made  a  pretence  of  trying  to 
control  them  but  we  suspected  later  that  he  himself  had  notified  them 
of  our  coming.  We  were  to  walk  through  the  Gap,  between  three 
and  four  miles,  to  the  Upper  Lake,  where  a  boat  would  meet  us. 
There  was  only  a  bridle  path,  on  one  side  of  which,  far  below,  was  a 
rapid  stream.  On  the  other  side  crags  and  peaks  towering  above  us, 
from  two  to  three  thousand  feet.  Before  us  and  behind  us  an  obstrep- 
erous crowd  each  with  a  tale  of  woe  that  only  a  saxpence  could  allev- 
iate. Realizing  at  what  a  disadvantage  we  were,  and  that  our  time 
was  limited,  you  thought  of  a  compromise.  You  would  pay  two 
of  the  party  saxpence  each  for  discharging  their  guns.  Two  and  no 
more;  and  the  two  should  be  the  oldest  and  youngest  of  the  crowd, 

Page  Forty-seven 


(wtHMmmtnt»HflHm»mimHHaimHimmi>mmim>nmiHHiuum(mHtHNHiiiamKmiutiiiuiHiHHmmmiimHiiimHmH»uimHmiHuimimnimimirmmHmHm«atH^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

MmMiiiHwiiuwHUHmmiwiuiwtimHtuuniiHMHHimiHiHiiiHiHimHiHmuMmHmuuiuimuiwwiiHUHiiinuiiiiHnmiiiiimiuiniHHHiuiuiHWMiimHHiiiunmiHmHUiiiiHiHMMi^ 

and  to  each  of  the  others  you  would  give  two-pence  if  they  would 
stop  behaving  like  highwaymen.  After  a  little  parley  the  terms  were 
accepted  and  then  they  began  quarreling  among  themselves  as  to 
their  respective  ages.  At  last  that  too  was  settled,  but  to  our  surprise, 
those  in  front  began  to  walk  on,  and  when  you  asked  why  they  did 
not  fire  oif  their  guns,  you  were  told  "This  is  not  the  place!  the  place 
is  a  mile  furtherer."  We  did  want  to  be  rid  of  them,  for  being  in 
the  midst  of  a  dozen  ragamuffins  stumbling  over  a  rough  path,  each 
with  a  loaded  gun  swung  carelessly  over  his  shoulder  was  suggestive 
of  unpleasant  possibilities. 

At  last  we  reached  the  place — a  bend  in  the  Gap  favorable  to 
echoes.  Here,  two  guns  were  discharged  following  closely  upon  each 
other.  The  reverberations  were  almost  deafening  and  very  remark- 
able. The  stipulated  sums  were  paid,  one  old  man  claiming  as  he 
held  out  his  hand,  that  he  was  as  old  as  the  man  that  got  saxpence. 
He  looked  it  and  his  claim  was  recognized.  We  parted  good  friends, 
every  rascal  of  them  taking  off  his  cap  and  saying,  "I  wish  yees 
well,"  the  young  ones  calling  out  after  us  that  they  were  going  to 
America.  Poor  fellows;  they  were  neither  degraded  nor  depraved, 
only  desperately  poor,  and  deep  down  in  the  groove  and  we  could 
only  hope  that  some  helping  hand  might  further  their  wish  to  go  to 
America,  where,  you  remarked,  probably  every  city  and  town  had  its 
quota  of  prosperous  Irishmen. 

From  Killarney  we  went  to  Dublin.  We  looked  at  the  fine 
buildings  of  the  Irish  capital,  then  took  a  jaunting  car  for  a  ride  in 
Phoenix  Park,  but  a  drizzling  rain  set  in  and  we  returned  to  the 
Shelburne  House  where  we  found  a  cheerful  fire  burning  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. We  sat  before  it  until  we  were  warm,  and  our  clothing 
dry,  then  out  again.  We  went  to  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral  where  we 
saw  the  tombs  of  Dean  Swift  and  "poor  Stella,"  then  under  dripping 
umbrellas  we  stood  before  the  shop  windows  perfectly  fascinated  by 
the  cheapness  of  clothing — particularly  gloves.  I  bought  several 
pairs  at  thirty-five  cents  a  pair  that  looked  well  and  wore  well,  and 
you  tried  a  pair  at  fifty  cents. 

When  we  reached  London  we  went  to  the  Westminster  Palace 
Hotel  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Westminster  Abbey,  the  Houses  of 
Parliament  and  many  other  objects  of  interest.  We  had  been  in  our 
room  but  a  short  time  when  a  clock  began  to  strike  the  hour — ^loud, 
clear  and  with  great  deliberation.  "Dear  Heart,"  said  I,  "that  is 
surely  Big  Ben,"  and  going  to  the  window,  there,  very  near,  was  the 
beautiful  illuminated  clock  tower  of  Parliament  House.    Arm  in  arm 

Page  Forty-eight 


(iiHiuiiiiMtiHiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiitiiiiiiiMiiiiiiniiliNiinmiiMiniiiiHiiinimitniimNiiiHimiiiiiiiMiiniiiMiiniiiiiiitriiiMriinnMiMiiHinHiiiiiniitiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiHiiiiiniiiiHitiiniHH>iiiniiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiininniuiiiiniiiiiiiiniiiiHiiiiiiinuiiniiMiiiiuiiiiHiniiuMiHHiiiiiiiiimiiiHiiiiiiiriiiiniitiiHiiiiiiiitiinmiiiiuii^ 

we  stood  at  the  window  until  the  last  stroke  of  midnight  had  sounded. 
I  was  too  happy  to  sleep,  and  few  were  the  hours  and  quarters  of 
hours  recorded  by  "Big  Ben"  that  night,  as  the  old  thief  Time  car- 
ried them  away,  that  I  did  not  hear. 

The  next  morning  while  at  breakfast  we  saw  from  the  window 
the  passing  omnibusses  bearing  names  of  streets  and  localities  with 
which  from  books  we  had  been  long  familiar,  and  now  we  were  going 
to  see  for  ourselves  these  streets  and  these  localities.  How  like  a 
dream  it  all  seemed! 

Our  sight-seeing  began  with  Westminster  Abbey  which  we 
entered  with  mingled  feelings  of  mystery  and  reverence.  The  vastness 
of  the  edifice,  the  long  row  of  monuments  on  either  side,  the  richness 
of  color,  the  softened  light  from  the  great  rose  window  all  combined 
to  make  a  profound  impression  upon  us.  To  you,  with  your  love  of 
poetry,  the  "Poet's  Corner"  was  a  sanctified  spot,  and  long  we  ling- 
ered there,  where  grave,  and  bust,  and  tablet  bore  names  familiar 
as  household  words. 

We  saw  the  beautiful  Chapel  of  Henry  Seventh,  and  the 
Coronation  Chair  of  which  my  irreverent  pencil  wrote,  "and  a  very 
ugly  old  chair  it  is." 

Leaving  the  Abbey  we  walked  over  Westminster  Bridge,  you 
quoting  the  line  from  Wordsworth  suggested  by  the  view,  "Earth 
has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair." 

They  were  busy,  happy,  active  weeks,  those  sight-seeing  weeks 
in  London.  Picture  galleries,  museums,  public  buildings,  parks, 
markets  and  shops;  but  first  and  foremost  the  pictures. 

The  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art  in  New  York,  now  one  of 
the  great  picture  galleries  of  the  World,  was  then  in  its  infancy,  but 
it  had  a  nucleus  of  fine  pictures  that  stimulated  the  craving  we  both 
felt  for  the  expression  of  art  in  its  different  forms,  and  now  for  the 
first  time  we  had  the  opportunity  of  gratifying  that  craving,  and  no 
words  could  be  too  extravagant  to  express  the  delight  the  pictures 
gave  us ;  but  it  was  fatiguing,  exhausting  work  and  after  a  few  days 
of  excess  we  limited  the  time  we  gave  to  pictures. 

"What  is  the  best  way  to  see  London,  Dr.  Johnson?"  asked  a 
new  arrival  at  the  Metropolis. 

"The  best  way  to  see  London,  Sir,  is  from  the  top  of  a  penn}'^ 
bus."  And  that  is  the  way  we  became  acquainted  with  the  great  city 
— from  the  vantage  ground  of  a  penny  bus.    We  i*ode  in  all  directions 

Page  Forty-nine 


(lummiumiumimNHnmnmmiiiHnimiiiniitniHiiiimiiiuiMiiiiiiiiiHniMiuiiiiHUiMmiimMimiimwiimMiimiinmiHuiiiimiiniHniiiiiiimiHimiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

MiiHiiiinimiiiiiiiitniiiHiiHmimiiiHiiiiiiiiinMiiiinMiiiiiniitHiiiiiiiiinmiiiiitimiiiiiHmiiiiiiHnniNiiiiiinnuHinnniimiinuniiiiniiiimiiH 

and  it  was  not  long  before  you,  with  the  advantage  of  a  good  bump 
of  locaKty  knew  London  streets  as  well  as  those  of  New  York  or  San 
Francisco. 

If  upon  reaching  the  top  of  the  bus  we  could  not  secure  the  seats 
we  coveted  near  the  driver,  we  had  but  to  wait  and  soon  the  oppor- 
tunity would  come.  And  what  drivers  they  were!  We  always 
marvelled  at  the  skill  with  which  they  threaded  their  way,  steering  the 
clumsy,  ponderous  vehicle  through  the  congested  traffic  of  the  narrow 
streets.  Their  wages  were  low  and  a  tip  was  gratefully  received, 
while  their  quaint  Cockney  dialect  was  an  entertainment  in  itself. 
Many  were  intelligent,  some  telling  interesting  things  of  the  streets 
through  which  they  drove,  others  were  stolid,  not  knowing  or  caring 
to  know.  One  elderly  man  had  a  fund  of  information  that  was  sur- 
prising. He  pointed  out  to  us  in  Cheapside  the  site  of  the  Mermaid 
Tavern  where  Shakespeare,  Ben  Johnson  and  that  brilliant  circle  of 
friends  were  wont  to  meet.  Where  Milton  was  born.  Where  Sir 
Thomas  More  was  born  and  where  to  find  the  Mitre  Tavern  fre- 
quented by  Dr.  Johnson,  Goldsmith  and  Boswell. 

There  is  a  saying,  that  "London  is  the  only  city  in  the  world, 
where  a  well  dressed  person  can  eat  a  penny  bun  in  the  streets  with- 
out being  stared  at"  and  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Bank  of  England, 
where  all  traffic  seemed  to  converge,  it  surely  would  be  true.  The 
Bank  of  England!  That  soot  begrimed  granite  structure!  Not  a 
window  in  its  outer  walls!  Immense  and  gloomy  without,  and 
lighted  within  from  many  courts  and  skylights;  and  how  impressed 
we  were  by  the  head  doorkeeper,  that  pompous  personage,  in  impos- 
ing scarlet  liverj^  with  a  glittering  chain  of  heavy  links  around  his 
neck  and  a  staff  of  authority  in  his  hand! 

Near  by  was  the  Mansion  House,  the  Royal  Exchange,  and 
Guildhall.  We  went  in  and  out  of  buildings,  in  and  out  of  queer 
alleys  and  courts  and  crooked  lanes,  with  odd  sounding  names;  we 
hunted  up  places  where  great  men  were  born,  where  they  had  lived 
and  worked,  where  they  had  died  and  where  they  had  been  laid  to  rest. 
We  followed  the  streets  where  Dickens  beguiled  the  hours  of  night 
when  he  could  not  sleep,  and  hunted  up  the  places  identified  with 
his  works. 

Tabard  Inn  was  still  standing  from  where  Chaucer's  Canterbury 
Pilgrims  set  out.  Temple  Bar  was  there,  with  the  same  endless  tide 
of  humanity  surging  through  its  gates  as  when  Dr.  Johnson  wrote, 
"It  is  my  practise  when  in  want  of  amusement  to  place  myself  for 
an  hour  at  Temple  Bar,  and  examine  one  by  one  the  looks  of  the 

Page  Fifty 


ilittwminininiiiiiHitiinni)iuM<iiitiiiMMiiirniiittniiriimiiM<Mnitiiiitiii<niiiiiiHiHiniiniiinnnunniiiHtitiiiiiiiiiiitiniiuiiinnninniiiiniiinniMnniniiiiiintiinniiitiHiiiiimiN 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

tnmmiiiiHiiiiuiHUiuiiiiiMniHuiiimminiiiiiniiiiiinninHiHiiiiiiiitiiHiiiiiiMiiiiHiiittiiMiiHiuiiiHiHiiiiunniHHiiiHiMtnniMiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiniiiiiiiiuiiiu 

passengers."  In  a  small  court  off  Fleet  Street  we  found  the  Cheshire 
Cheese  Tavern  and  looked  out  from  the  window,  from  which  Johnson, 
Goldsmith  and  Boswell  looked,  when  they  dined  there  and  Boswell 
"made  notes  of  the  conversation,"  after  which  Dr.  Johnson  would 
walk  on  his  beloved  Fleet  Street  touching  all  the  lamp  posts  that  he 
passed. 

Often  we  turned  from  the  crowds  on  Fleet  Street  to  "The 
Temple" — that  most  interesting  group  of  buildings.  We  sat  in  the 
pleasant  Temple  Gardens  on  the  Thames,  or  rested  in  the  quaint, 
round  Church  often  looking  at  the  monuments  of  the  Crusaders — 
recumbent  marble  figures  in  full  armor,  that  you  said  always  recalled 
the  lines  of  Coleridge, 

"The  Knight's  bones  are  dust 
And  his  sword  is  rust; 
His  soul  is  with  the  Saints,  I  trust." 

We  went  to  the  Tower  and  saw  an  endless  array  of  interesting 
things — ^trophies  won  by  British  valor,  equestrian  figures  in  armor, 
the  great  Kohinoor  diamond,  crown  jewels  and  all  the  insignia  of 
the  Kingdom — a  splendid  glittering  mass  of  untold  wealth,  guarded 
by  old  soldiers  in  quaint  attire,  with  whose  pictures  we  were  familiar. 
The  Beefeaters  of  Old  England,  officially  called  the  Yoemen  of  the 
Guard. 

We  looked  at  the  statues  and  monuments  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral, 
then  went  to  the  crypt,  where  we  saw  the  magnificent  tombs  of  Nelson 
and  Wellington.  There  too  we  saw  the  graves  of  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  Turner,  Opie  and  others.  A  part  of 
the  grave  of  Lawrence  was  directly  beneath  one  of  the  furnaces  that 
heated  the  Cathedral,  and  over  the  graves  of  the  other  artists,  soot 
begrimed  men  and  boys,  laughing  and  jesting,  were  trundling  wheel- 
barrows of  coal.  The  inscriptions  upon  the  stones  were  badly  worn 
and  in  a  few  years  would  be  entirely  eiFaced. 

We  went  to  the  British  Museum  many  times,  and  went  away  as 
often  discouraged  by  the  hopelessness  of  making  any  headway  in  the 
vast  and  wonderful  collection.  Plodding  wearily  along  one  day,  with 
the  heavy  catalogue  in  my  hand,  I  said,  "Why  it  would  take  a  life- 
time to  see  all  the  things  here,"  and  you — 

"That  is  what  Holmes  thought,  when  talking  with  a  young 
American  who  boasted  that  he  was  going  to  see  it  all.  Holmes  ad- 
vised him  'take  lodgings  next  door,  pass  all  your  days  in  the  Museum, 
and  if  you  live  to  be  three  score  and  ten,  you  wiU  have  some  faint 
conception  of  its  contents.'  " 

Page  Fifty-one 


tiimniiiiinnmimHMnniHiiiiiinnmnnraiiiiiiinmiuimniiimimmniiNiiHHmnimiiimiiinimmHmnmiiimnmnmnHmninummminiinnimimiiiimiimimtmimiHH^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

(iimimiiiHiiiiiiiiii iiiiuiiiiiiiiinniiiiiiMUuiiiiunHiiHiiiMiiiuiiiiiMimHHiiimiuiiimniiiniiiinuiHiniiHiiniiiiiuiHMiiiicimiiiimiintMiiintnrinnnitnMniiiintMiiiiuiiiHiiHiMM^ 

We  enjoyed  the  South  Kensington  Museum,  and  took  a  lively 
interest  in  the  beautiful  Albert  Memorial  not  yet  completed.  We 
heard  Mr.  Spurgeon  preach.  Fervent  rather  than  eloquent,  my 
pencil  recorded. 

We  enjoyed  Hyde  Park — the  equestrians  in  Rotten  Row  and 
the  driving.  Sometimes  we  saw  Queen  Victoria,  frequently  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  nearly  always,  Alexandra,  the  lovely  Princess 
of  Wales.  The  Sunday  morning  church  parade  entertained  us  very 
much. 

We  visited  Mme.  Tussaud's  Waxwork  Exhibition  interested  in 
costumes  of  the  past  and  faces  of  famous  persons,  until  we  came  to 
Lincoln  and  Grant — they  were  such  caricatures  that  we  lost  faith  in 
likenesses. 

We  did  our  sightseeing  under  trying  conditions.  The  weather 
was  "beastly" — drizzling  rain  almost  continuous;  but  fatigue  and 
weather  did  not  count. 

Covent  Garden  Market  saw  us  often  as  early  morning  visitors, 
admiring  the  tempting  and  beautiful  hot-house  fruits  and  flowers,  and 
that  night,  we  would  be  at  Covent  Garden  Opera  House,  where 
Titiens,  Trebelli  Bettini,  Sessi  and  Cotogni  were  singing  to  delighted 
audiences.  Adelaide  Neilson,  that  bright  particular  star,  was  shining 
in  the  dramatic  firmament  and  all  London  was  at  her  feet.  Her 
pictures  were  everywhere,  and  Drury  Lane  Theater  was  packed  from 
pit  to  dome  whenever  she  appeared.  We  went  to  see  and  hear  the 
beautiful,  gifted  being  with  every  change  of  bill.  We  went  to  the 
Haymarket  and  other  theaters  and  saw  all  the  actors  and  actresses  of 
reputation  in  London  at  that  time. 

One  night  we  went  to  the  then  famous  Cremorne  Gardens — a 
gathering  place  of  the  demi-monde.  The  gardens  were  extremely 
pretty  and  the  lighting  of  them,  charming ;  the  light  coming  through 
some  transparent  substance  fashioned  to  represent  different  flowers. 
The  entertainment  we  thought  little  of.  The  principal  feature  being 
a  bevy  of  pretty,  young  girls  wearing  the  evening  dress  of  men. 
Crowds  followed  them  everywhere  and  laughed  at  their  unbecoming 
antics. 

One  feature  of  London  life  that  surprised  us,  was  the  amount  of 
intemperance  we  saw  in  both  sexes.  It  shocked  us  to  see  through 
open  doors,  women  standing  beside  men  at  a  public  bar,  and  drinking. 
We  saw  them  in  cheap  bar  rooms,  and  in  saloons  adorned  with 
mirrors,  and  bright  with  gilding — we  saw  women  and  children  going 
in  and  coming  out  of  these  places  with  bottles  and  jugs  and  it 

Page  Fifty -two 


MmfmimitiiiiiiiiHniimitiHniniiiiiiimiiniHmiiiiniiimniHniiimiinimnminuiiiiinmtiimiiiimninnnnmiiiiniiiiiiimHiMiiiinnnniiiniHMiM^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iintHHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiHHiiiiiiiiniinHiuiiiiiiiiiiiiHimii iiiiiiiniiniiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiuitiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiunM 

was  not  an  unusual  thing  to  see  a  woman  staggering  along  the  streets, 
or  in  charge  of  a  policeman,  screaming  and  ranting  as  she  was  made 
to  move  on. 

We  had  looked  forward  with  interest  to  the  "Lord  Mayor's 
Show"  when  with  pomp  and  ceremony  the  newly  elected  official 
would  be  escorted  through  the  streets  of  the  City  to  take  the  oath  of 
office.  On  that  day  London  awoke  blanketed  in  what  the  Londoners 
call,  a  pea  soup  fog — greenish-yellow  and  thick.  We  could  feel  it, 
and  smell  it,  and  taste  it,  and  see  it,  but  not  see  through  it.  Every- 
body blinked  and  wheezed  and  coughed.  Cabs  and  busses  were 
lighted,  policemen  carried  lanterns  and  constantly  blew  their  whistles 
of  warning.  Museums  and  all  public  buildings  were  closed — reading 
and  writing  were  impossible — there  was  absolutely  nothing  to  do. 

In  the  afternoon  the  fog  lifted  a  little,  and  as  the  ceremony 
could  not  be  postponed,  we  took  a  hansom  and  went  to  the  banking 
house  of  Bowles  Brothers.  Our  driver  carried  a  lantern  in  one  hand 
and  led  the  horse  mth  the  other.  "What  a  bilious  looking  commun- 
ity," you  said,  as  at  a  snail's  pace  we  made  our  way;  and  how  we  did 
laugh  at  what  we  called  the  hobgoblins — men  and  women  with  res- 
pirators tied  over  their  noses  and  mouths. 

It  was  all  weird  and  unnatural!  The  heavy  pall  of  fog  and 
smoke  seemed  to  rest,  a  solid  mass,  on  the  tops  of  the  houses.  At 
three  o'clock  a  band  of  music  passed,  followed  by  the  gorgeous  State 
Carriage,  in  which  the  Lord  Mayor  sat,  drawn  by  four  horses  with 
showy  trappings;  then  another  band  of  music,  some  handsome  ban- 
ners, a  small  detachment  of  soldiers,  and  the  procession  was  over. 
After  it,  came  a  hatless  crowd  of  men  and  boys,  hooting  and  yelHng 
and  knocking  off  every  hat  they  could  lay  their  hands  on.  This 
pastime  the  London  roughs  could  enjoy  without  fear  of  the  police, 
for  two  hours  after  the  procession  on  Lord  Mayor's  Day. 

We  took  short  walks  in  the  parks,  wintry  though  they  were,  and 
ah,  what  delightful  strolls  we  had  on  Piccadilly  and  Pall  Mall,  and 
how  we  enjoyed  the  shop  windows!  New  Bond  Street  with  the  great 
jewelry  establishments.  Regent  Street  with  emporiums  of  clothing, 
and  the  poulterers'  stands  with  their  wonderful  display  of  game  birds, 
partridge,  grouse,  pheasant,  woodcock,  plover,  snipe  and  smaller 
birds — also  a  variety  of  ducks.  Game  that  year  was  plentiful  and 
moderate  in  price,  and  you  felt  rebellious  at  the  almost  prohibitory 
prices  charged  at  the  hotel.  We  had  been  in  London  two  weeks, 
when  turning  one  day  from  a  poulterer  of  whom  you  had  inquired 
prices,  you  suggested  that  we  might  enjoy  lodgings,  and  do  our  own 

Page  Fifty-three 


•ttHirnnirrnnimmuiiimmiiimniHnmimmnRiriimitnmnrtmumwwntHimmmnmiHnnniminmtmimimmminnmmmnHiiimrmrmnnimtmimiminmim 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iinMmiHUiHuiiiiMiuiiuiiiiiiuuHnNHiiHniiuiiiiiiiiiiiiHiniuiiutimHHminmHWHHtHiHiimiHituiimminiiniiuiiiiiiiHiiiiHiUMimHiiiiitiinrnMniiiitnniniiRNitiiiii^ 

marketing.     I  accepted  the  suggestion  eagerly,  having  a  reason  of 
my  own. 

At  an  adjoining  table  in  the  dining  room  of  our  hotel,  sat  an  old 
gentleman  and  lady  with  their  daughter,  and  a  son  who  was  a  mem- 
ber of  Parliament.  We  put  the  old  gentleman  down  as  being  verj'' 
crusty  and  crabbed,  particularly  at  breakfast  time  when  he  was 
always  finding  fault  with  the  waiter.  It  was  either  his  tea,  or  his 
toast,  or  his  fish,  or  his  bacon,  or  his  newspaper,  the  Times — that  was 
never  right — never  sufficiently  warmed  and  dried,  and  often  the 
waiter  was  sent  away  with  it,  and  when  he  brought  it  back  crackling 
with  heat,  the  old  gentleman  would  say,  "Now,  that  is  something 
like."  After  a  day  or  two  of  breakfasting  and  dining  beside  this 
little  family,  they  became  very  sociable,  taking  a  keen  interest  in 
what  we  were  seeing  and  doing  from  day  to  day,  and  making  many 
kind  and  helpful  suggestions.  One  attitude  of  the  old  gentleman 
that  I  felt  strongly  inclined  to  resent,  while  you  were  amused  by  it, 
consisted  in  his  frequent  expressions  of  surprise  at  the  extent  of  your 
knowledge  concerning  London,  his  favorite  remark  being,  "Why 
bless  my  heart,  and  do  you  know  about  that?"  The  mother  and 
daughter,  and  all  the  English  ladies  came  to  dinner  in  full  dress — 
decollete,  and  sweeping  gracefully  along  in  trailing  gowns,  and  after 
a  time  I  became  decidedly  uncomfortable.  I  longed  to  be,  where 
after  a  hard  day's  work,  I  could  sit  down  to  dinner  in  my  street  dress 
and  be  at  peace  with  myself  and  the  World. 

One  morning  after  chatting  through  breakfast,  you  told  our 
neighbors  we  must  say  good-by  as  we  were  leaving  the  hotel  that 
day.  They  were  surprised  and  full  of  regret.  When  you  said  you 
had  taken  lodgings,  the  old  gentleman  followed  with,  "So  you  are 
going  into  apartments/^  emphasizing  apartments,  and  giving  us  to 
understand  that  lodgings  was  not  the  proper  word  to  use. 

We  had  secured  apartments  with  an  agreeable  woman  who  in 
answer  to  your  question  if  she  had  any  experience  in  cooking  game 
birds,  answered  that  a  gentleman  who  had  occupied  her  drawing  room 
floor  for  three  years,  and  was  still  with  her,  and  who  was  himself  a 
sportsman,  said  there  was  not  a  chef  in  London  who  could  send  a 
bird  to  table  more  perfectly  cooked  than  she.  As  that  was  what  you 
particularly  wanted,  terms  were  soon  arranged,  and  the  following 
day  we  were  in  possession.  We  had  two  good  sized  rooms,  somewhat 
dingy  from  the  London  atmosphere,  but  not  shabby,  and  scrupulously 
clean.  There  were  several  pieces  of  old  fashioned  furniture,  the  bed 
being  the  most  remarkable.     That,  Mrs.  W.  said,  was  very  old  and 

PAge  Fifty-four 


•MmiHHiHiiiHmiiiHimiMiiHimiiHiiiuiiiiHiiiiiHiuiiimtiittiiiuiHiinimwHWHinHHiiuimiiiiHmniiniKiiiuiiiiiiiiiniiMiniiiiHHniHnitiMiiiniMiiiHiiiiMn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

«HHiHiiiiiMiiiiiMiiiuiiiiiiiii<iiiiiiiiiiiiininininuuHiiiinuiniMuiiuiHuiiuiiutuiimunuiiMiuiiHMuiwniiiiiiniiiiiiiHiiiiHtiiiniiiiiuiiiiiiiiMiiiuiiiniiiiHiiHin 

had  come  from  the  house  of  a  great  family.  It  was  of  solid  mahog- 
any, with  four  richly  carved  posts  and  so  high  that  on  each  side  stood 
a  step-ladder  of  five  or  six  short  steps  by  which  access  to  it  was 
gained.  The  table  on  which  we  dined  was  of  the  same  wood  and 
matched  the  bed  in  richness  of  carving.  What  a  find,  those  two 
pieces  of  furniture  would  have  been  for  a  collector! 

You  did  the  marketing  and  each  day  as  we  were  finishing  dinner 
Mrs.  W.  would  come  to  ask  if  everything  had  been  "to  our  liking," 
and  on  Sunday  when  she  appeared  in  a  black  satin  gown,  so  rich  in 
texture  that  "it  would  stand  alone"  with  a  bit  of  real  lace  at  her 
throat  and  wrists  she  was  a  strikingly  handsome  woman. 

That  first  evening  in  our  new  quarters,  what  a  delight  it  was! 
After  an  excellent  dinner,  including  a  brace  of  young  birds,  done  to 
a  turn,  we  sat  before  a  brightly  burning  fire,  comfortable,  contented, 
supremely  happy  and  thankful  to  be  away  from  the  brilliant  dining 
room  of  the  hotel,  together,  and  alone!  Then  it  was  that  I  told  you 
why  I  had  been  so  glad  to  change  from  the  hotel  to  quiet  quarters. 

How  heartily  you  laughed,  and  said,  "the  old  gentleman  wore  a 
dinner  coat  and  the  son  a  dress  coat,  but  that  did  not  make  me  un- 
comfortable," to  which  I  answered,  "of  course  not,  because  you  are 
just  a  man,  and  cannot  understand  such  things,"  and  then  I  have  a 
memory  of  an  endearing  name,  as  you  accused  me  of  being  "sly," 
adding  "and  all  the  time  I  fancied  that  your  only  thought  was  of 
me." 

Memories,  memories!  what  dear,  dear  memories  they  are! 

We  were  waited  upon  at  table  by  a  young  girl  in  a  black  dress 
with  snowy  cap  and  apron.  She  was  one  of  that  large  class,  that 
add  so  much  to  the  comfort  of  sojourners  in  the  lodgings  and  modest 
apartments  of  London.  Slaveys,  poor  slaveys !  This  one  of  ours  was 
a  type  of  all!  She  put  a  high  polish  on  your  shoes,  brushed  our 
clothes,  ran  on  errands  and  was  willing  and  ready  at  all  times  for  any 
extra  service,  while  her  extra  tips  were  such  a  source  of  undisguised 
delight  that  the  giving  of  them  was  a  pleasure  to  remember.  Poor 
little  slavey,  with  her  funny  bobbing  curtsies  and  her  smile  that 
went  nearly  from  ear  to  ear!  Reaching  home  sometimes  at  an  un- 
usual hour,  we  would  come  upon  her  scrubbing  the  floors,  wearing 
a  nondescript  kind  of  garment  and  looking  as  though  she  had 
crawled  through  a  coal  bin,  but  there  was  always  the  smile  and  the 
curtsy,  as  she  jumped  up  and  stood  aside  waiting  for  us  to  pass. 

During  our  stay  of  a  month  with  Mrs.  W.  only  one  thing  occur- 
red that  we  would  have  liked  different.  From  our  first  stroUs  about  the 

Page  Fifty-five 


'HiiiuiiiiuiiHiHiiiiniiiuiiiiuuMMMiniininiiinMNniinniiiniiHiiHiHiiiinmiumiinNiniiintiiiirHiniiiiiiiiiiinHMiiniiiiHtMniiHiiiiiiniiiiiiniiiMinm^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iHiiMMiiiiiiiiniiiMniininiuiiiiiiiiiHiiMicuHiiMiiniiHiinniiiMniuninniiiiiiiiiiHiniiiMiuiMiiiiiinnHiiiiiiMiiHiinnMnMiiiMiiHiiiHMminiinHiiiirHiiiiiiiinnniiiinn^ 

London  streets,  the  hot-house  melons  at  the  fruit  stands  had  attracted 
your  attention.  They  ranged  in  price  from  four  to  six  shiUings,  and 
when  I  urged  you  to  buy  one,  and  satisfy  your  curiosity,  you  always 
answered,  "there  is  no  melon  worth  a  dollar  and  a  half  to  me,  nor 
even  a  dollar,"  but  one  morning  when  the  supply  was  unusually 
large  and  fine,  you  sent  home,  with  other  things,  a  five  shilling 
melon.  When  our  dinner  was  served,  the  little  maid  brought  some- 
thing in  a  large  vegetable  dish  that  looked  like  summer  squash.  To 
our  inquiry  she  said  she  did  not  know  what  it  was.  She  was  sent 
down  stairs  to  ask,  and  also  to  bring  up  the  melon.  Of  course  the 
dreadful  suspicion  had  flashed  through  both  our  minds,  which  the 
little  maid  soon  confirmed.  The  hot-house  melon  had  been  boiled  and 
served  as  a  vegetable.  Poor  Mrs.  W.,  she  was  much  distressed, 
and  relieved  when  the  matter  w  as  passed  over  lightly. 

In  San  Francisco  we  had  drawn  up  our  plan  of  travel  and 
expected  to  go  from  London  to  Paris;  but  that  summer  the  Franco- 
Prussian  war  had  come,  and  when  we  were  ready  to  go  to  the 
Continent,  Paris  was  besieged  and  a  victorious  German  army  was 
lying  at  her  gates;  so  instead  of  Dover,  Calais  and  Paris,  it  was 
Dover,  Calais  and  Brussels. 

In  Calais  we  realized  that  we  were  in  a  foreign  land,  and  that 
Great  Britain  had  surrounded  us  with  a  kind  of  home  atmosphere 
that  was  very  pleasant. 

The  narrow  channel  crossed  and  what  a  dilFerence  in  everything. 
Such  a  difference  in  architecture!  Instead  of  houses  that  looked  like 
homes,  we  saw  great  structures  where  people  lived,  with  a  gateway 
and  central  court  by  which  they  reached  their  abodes. 

Such  a  difference  in  the  language  that  we  heard  on  every  side, 
and  saw  on  signs  over  the  doors  of  shops. 

Such  a  difference  in  people,  particularly  of  the  working  class. 
We  had  seen  the  English  workmen,  serious,  and  clad  in  garments 
that  told  of  toil  and  privation — here  were  the  cheerful,  bustling 
Frenchmen  in  neat,  blue  working  blouses.  We  had  seen  the  poor 
English  women  dressed  in  castoff  finery,  their  hats  trimmed  with 
faded,  crumpled  flowers  and  ribbons — here  were  the  French  women 
in  trim,  black  dresses,  without  hats  and,  their  hair  neatly  arranged. 
Oh,  those  coiffures,  how  admirable  they  were  and  are! 

The  streets  were  full  of  soldiers  and  we  saw  many  priests,  with 
three-cornered  hats,  long  frock  coats  and  knee  breeches. 

Soon  after  we  had  taken  our  places  in  the  train  for  Brussels, 
three   Frenchmen  entered  the  compartment   engaged  in  animated 

Page  Pifty-six 


.MtitimitiiniinmiininiiiiiiimiimttnniinMiinitiiiiiiniiiiiiinintiiiniuinniiiniiiniiiiiiimiHiiiiiiMiiiiiimniiininiiiiniuuiiniiiiiniiinininMiiiiiiinimiiiniuiiiniiiiiiiniin^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iiMiiiiiiiniMiiiuiiiNiniiiiiiiuiuiiHiiiiiiiiiiniiiiHiiHiiniiHiiMinniiiitiniiiiiiniiMiiiiinimiinHriiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiMiiii»iiniMninMriMHiiiHHuiiiii:iitiiiitiiimiiiHitH 

conversation.  Two  were  army  officers  and  the  other  a  civilian.  Their 
talk  was  rapid  and  excited  and  frequently  all  were  speaking  at  the 
same  time.  You  and  I  were  all  ears,  and  listened  eagerly.  Yes,  we 
listened,  and  listened,  and  listened,  looked  at  one  another  and  smiled, 
for  each  knew  of  what  the  other  was  thinking. 

After  a  while  you  asked,  "Can  you  understand  what  they  are 
saying?" 

"Scarcely  a  word,"  I  answered,  and  a  disagreeable  fact  forced 
itself  upon  us. 

From  school  days,  both  of  us  had  been  able  to  read  French,  and 
when  we  had  decided  upon  spending  a  year  in  Europe,  we  had 
engaged  a  French  teacher,  a  splendid  old  fellow,  who  had  a  system 
by  which  the  art  of  conversation  was  readily  acquired.  We  could 
hold  animated  talks  with  him,  and  amusing  talks  with  each  other  "a  la 
Ollendorf ,"  and  it  never  dawned  upon  us  that  if  we  could  understand 
our  teacher  and  one  another,  we  should  have  any  difficulty  in  under- 
standing any  one  else,  but  here  we  were  in  France,  listening  to  a 
French  conversation,  and  the  system  had  broken  down  completely. 
Now  and  then  we  could  catch  the  familiar  name  of  a  well  known 
General — we  knew  they  were  talking  about  the  war,  and  abusing 
the  Germans,  but  we  knew  that,  from  intuition;  so  we  gave  up 
listening  and  sadder  and  wiser  turned  our  attention  to  the  country, 
through  which  we  were  passing. 

We  found  Brussels  a  charmingly  attractive  city  with  splendid, 
well  built  boulevards,  grand  trees,  handsome  houses,  and  clean,  well 
paved  streets.  We  enjoyed  the  Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  and  the  noble 
Cathedral,  but  most  of  all  the  Old  Square  where,  for  the  first  time, 
we  saw  specimens  of  that  glorious  Medieval  architecture  so  common 
in  Belgium.  That  wonderful  architecture,  much  of  which  during 
this  cruel,  senseless  World  War  has  been  wickedly  and  ruthlessly 
destroyed  by  the  Germans.  There  were  many  attractive  and  quaint 
buildings  in  the  Old  Square  but  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  with  its  364  feet 
of  beautiful  Gothic  spire  (up  which  we  climbed),  and  the  Maison 
de  Roi,  were  the  two  that  we  most  delighted  in.  That  lovely  Old 
Square  with  its  flowers  and  quaint  architecture!  I  pray  the  German 
army  of  invasion  in  Belgium  may  leave  it  as  they  found  it! 

Going  out  from  the  Hotel  de  I'Europe  we  found  that  Jack 
Frost  had  been  busy  during  the  night.  The  ground  was  frozen  hard, 
plants  killed  and  icicles  hung  from  the  rims  of  fountains. 

We  left  Brussels  the  following  morning.     From  Liege  on,  the 

Page  Fifty-seven 


MuniiHHnitiuimiiiiNiiiiniiiiitiitiHiiHmHitiHtttMiiHMiitHmminiiuiNimnwiiminiHimiHiiiuiiimiiiiiiuiUHiuiiitiiinmiiniiHiiimniiinHiimimiiiiimn^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

niinuiiHiuiMMiiiiiniiiimiiiinninunimiiiiiMiiiiniiiiiHininMiiHiniiiMiiiiiiiiiniinumiiiiimuniNimmuniiiinnirMnMriiiniinimmiuiiiiiiMitiiniiiinmiiiniiMiiini^ 

scenery  was  wild  and  picturesque,  but  winter  had  come.     The  trees 
were  leafless  and  the  country  a  vast  bed  of  snow. 

We  reached  Cologne  at  four  o'clock,  and  there,  at  the  Hotel 
Disch,  made  acquaintance  with  many  customs  strange  to  us.  At  the 
table  d'hote  dinner  the  first  thing  a  German  did,  after  sitting  down, 
was  to  take  something  from  his  pocket  and  slip  it  around  the  back 
of  his  neck.  It  was  either  a  chain  or  strip  of  ribbon  on  which  was 
embroidered  a  motto,  or  initials;  to  these  by  clasps  at  the  ends,  the 
napkin  was  attached  and  spread  out  at  full  size  under  the  chin.  As 
the  dinner  progressed  everybody  was  wreathed  in  smoke,  as  smoking 
seemed  to  be  as  much  a  part  of  the  entertainment  as  eating. 

There,  too,  at  the  Hotel  Disch,  we  made  acquaintance  with  the 
uncomfortable  German  bed.  Always  single  and  very  narrow;  the 
upper  sheet  turned  over  a  heavy,  bright-colored  blanket  and  fastened 
all  around  by  buttons  and  buttonholes ;  being  only  a  trifle  larger  than 
the  mattress,  there  was  no  margin  for  turning  under  or  tucking  in. 
Two  immense,  fluffy  pillows  the  width  of  the  bed,  and  square ;  a  very 
hard,  wedge-shaped  bolster  with  a  steep  incline;  a  small  eiderdown 
quilt  just  the  width  of  the  bed,  and  square;  (a  dwarf  could  not  have 
curled  up  into  a  small  enough  compass  to  have  covered  both  his 
shoulders  and  his  feet).  What  funny,  ridiculous  beds,  and  how 
heartily  we  did  laugh  at  sight  of  them! 

At  night  when  we  went  to  our  room,  we  found  that  a  maid  had 
turned  down  the  blanket  and  left  the  pillows  and  bolster  undisturbed 
so  we  knew  that  the  beds  were  ready  to  be  occupied.  I  suggested 
re-arranging  them  but  you  said  you  were  going  to  try  yours  as  it 
was — that  you  were  tired  and  could  sleep  anywhere,  and  that  we  were 
not  sure  but  that  the  German  idea  of  a  bed  might  be  a  good  one 
although  it  differed  from  our  own. 

As  I  got  into  my  little  bed  I  determined  that  I  too  would  make 
the  best  of  it;  but  I  tried  in  vain.  I  told  you  it  was  impossible — 
that  I  could  not  sleep  sitting  up  in  bed.  You  answered  drowsily, 
"You  will  never  be  a  good  traveler  until  you  learn  to  adapt  yourself 
to  circumstances." 

A  short  pause  and  I  said,  "Of  one  thing  I  am  sure — no  German 
can  truthfully  say.  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep/'  but  you  were 
already  in  the  land  of  Nod,  and  I  got  no  answer.  A  little  later  I 
threw  the  pillows  and  bolster  on  the  floor.  I  was  not  comfortable, 
but  I  could  at  least  lie  down.  The  next  morning  you  were  loud  in 
denunciation  of  the  German  bed — your  neck  was  stiff" — ^you  had  been 
miserably  cold  and  had  spent  most  of  the  night  in  changing  the  posi- 

Page  Fifty-eight 


rH«HiHUHumunuimHnmmuHiiuHimiiMiinHUHiMnHtitiMiiiirnitMmiiiiitHinnnHmmNiimitHmniimtimii»nmmmnKmmwumHnmHiHtttnnmimiHttr^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

liiHiuuiimiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiuiMiiiiiuiiiuuiminuinHiiiiiMHiiiiHiuwiHiHmuumHtniiHiiHiiiuiiiiiiHWNiiHiuwiititiMmiuiinniiiiiuuuuMiwuiHHniwiMiuiimi^ 

tion  of  the  little  eiderdown  quilt,  warming  your  feet  and  shoulders  in 
turn.  Thereafter  we  always  remade  German  beds  before  getting 
into  them. 

Directly  after  breakfast  next  morning  we  went  to  the  Cathedral, 
The  majestic  imposing  Cathedral!  High  overhead  were  pinnacles, 
spires,  arches  and  buttresses ;  and  there  were  grotesque  gargoyles  and 
carved  figures;  and  the  interior  was  vast  and  grand  with  stately 
columns,  statues  and  glorious  windows  of  old  stained  glass.  Oh, 
those  windows!  The  sun  shining  through  them  brought  out  the 
exquisite  colors,  that  lay  like  bits  of  rainbow  on  floor  and  pillars! 
The  main  front  of  the  Cathedral  was  covered  with  scaffolding  and  it 
was  ten  years  later,  that  the  beautiful  facade  with  its  superb  portals 
and  massive  towers,  from  which  spring  the  graceful  spires,  was  un- 
veiled before  a  large  assemblage  that  included  the  German  Emperor. 
We  looked  at  the  fine,  old  pictures  in  the  Museum  and  bought  two 
bottles  of  Ean  de  Cologne,  one  of  which  later  gave  us  trouble. 

An  old  German  in  my  Father's  employ,  who  came  from  Cologne 
told  us  of  the  storks  building  their  nests  on  the  chimneys  of  tall 
buildings,  and  after  finishing  with  the  sights  put  down  in  our  guide- 
book, we  went  on  a  little  expedition  of  our  own.  We  soon  located  a 
number  of  storks'  nests,  but  you  were  not  content  with  that,  so  you  set 
about  interviewing  the  people  who  harbored  them.  As  we  suspected, 
the  storks  had  migrated  to  warmer  climes,  but  were  sure  to  return  to 
their  old  homes  in  the  spring. 

We  learned  that  they  were  cherished  guests  because  of  the 
superstition  that  a  stork's  nest  built  upon  property  ensures  its  good 
luck,  and  a  pleasant,  buxom,  friendly  woman,  who  spoke  English 
quite  well,  told  us  that  she  and  her  husband  and  many  of  their  friends 
gladly  paid  a  somewhat  higher  rent  to  be  located  in  a  building  to 
which  a  stork  had  attached  its  nest.  These  good  people  had  a  good 
sized  cutlery  shop,  and  gave  every  evidence  of  being  prosperous. 

You  enquired  about  some  frame  like  objects  that  we  frequently 
saw  upon  high  chimneys  or  gables,  and  learned  they  were  structures 
erected  in  the  hope  that  storks  would  build  nests  there,  but  that  the 
birds  never  changed  their  habitations,  patching  them  up  from  year 
to  year,  and  that  unless  the  colony  was  enlarged  by  new  comers,  no 
new  nests  were  ever  built.  We  were  still  pursuing  our  inquiries  about 
the  storks,  when  a  furious  snow  storm  set  in  that  sent  us  scampering 
back  to  the  hotel. 

Whenever  during  the  winter,  in  going  from  one  place  to  another, 
we  found  that  the  time  required  was  over  ten  or  twelve  hours  we 

Page  Fifty-nine 


inHtiiiiMniiiMiniiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiniiniiiniiiiiiiiHiiiitmiiiHiiiiiiiniiiiiniiiniiniiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinmiiMiniiiiiHiiniiiiiiiniHiiimimiiiniiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiiiumiinniiinnHiMiiiiUMiiMiiHiMiiiiniiMinminiHiiiMiiiMiiiiitiinuiimimiinniniimniniiuMnMiiiiiinmiiniininiinniuiiiiiiiiuMiMiMiniHitniniMnininiiiiiniinH 

traveled  at  night.  We  thought  that  better  than  breaking  the  jour- 
ney and  spending  the  night  in  the  cold,  uncomfortable  rooms  of  an 
hotel  for  which  a  good  price  must  be  paid.  High,  porcelain  stoves 
were  the  only  means  of  w^arming  the  rooms,  and  it  was  only  after  fire 
had  been  burning  for  hours,  that  any  degree  of  warmth  was  percept- 
ible, and  when  morning  came,  it  was  either  to  get  up  and  dress  in  a 
bitterly  cold  room,  or  ring  for  a  servant  to  light  the  fire,  and  waste 
precious  hours  in  bed  waiting  for  the  room  to  be  warmed. 

There  were  then  no  comfortable — Schlaf-wagens — and  no  means 
of  warming  the  cars  except  by  frequently  renewed  long,  flat,  metal 
cylinders  of  hot  water.  The  weather  was  very  cold  and  at  every 
station  the  guard  would  throw  open  a  door,  letting  in  a  wintry  blast. 
We  wrapped  ourselves  in  our  steamer  rugs,  and  sat  each  in  our 
corner  getting  what  rest  and  sleep  we  could.  Now  and  then  you 
would  emerge  like  a  crysalis  from  your  shell  to  see  if  you  could  do 
anything  to  add  to  my  comfort,  and  occasionally  the  stop  at  a  station 
would  be  long  enough  to  enable  you  to  bring  two  steaming  cups  of 
hot  coffee,  but  we  always  welcomed  the  morning  light  that  ushered  in 
the  sociable  day,  and  gave  us  some  idea  of  the  country  through  which 
we  were  passing. 

The  trains  w^ere  slow.  We  traveled  by  the  Schnellzug — express 
train — and  were  fifteen  hours  in  going  from  Cologne  to  Berlin, 
a  distance  of  360  miles,  and  study  time  tables — for  which  there 
was  always  a  charge — as  you  would,  you  never  found  that  any  train 
made  better  time  than  that  by  which  we  made  our  first  night  journey. 
Here  for  the  first  time  we  saw  fourth-class  cars,  with  wooden  benches 
around  the  sides,  in  which  market  men  and  women  rode,  and  carried 
their  baskets. 

In  1870  Prussia  was  but  a  German  state  and  Berlin  far  from 
the  new  and  splendid  city  it  has  become,  since  being  the  capital  of  a 
great  empire.  Now,  there  are  miles  and  miles  of  streets  lined  with 
magnificent  structures,  Government  and  public  buildings  in  which 
gilding  and  elaborate  decoration  freely  appear.  There  are  splendid 
theaters  and  music  halls,  and  gorgeous  hotels,  and  there  are  perfectly 
paved  streets  so  thoroughly  washed  and  mopped  and  sponged  each 
day  that  the  streets  of  no  city  in  all  the  world  compare  with  them  in 
cleanliness. 

In  the  Berlin  that  we  first  knew  there  were  miles  and  miles  of 
quaint  little  houses  built  on  narrow  streets,  where  the  sidewalks  were 
shabby  and  the  roadways  paved  with  cobblestones.  There  were 
only  open  sewers,  and  surface  drains,  and  the  water  for  drinking 

Page  Sixty 


iiiiiHHUiiiHHiitiitHinnumHnmiiHiHiniiiiiiimiiiiminHniiiiittimiiunnttmNiniHimniiiiiiiHiiiimnnmiMmiriHHitmiimmnnmininiMiiiimtiiimiiiiniir^^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

MMHMIItmilllWIIIIIItllUIIHIIIHUIIHIIIIIIHUIIIUIIMUIIIIIHIIIIHnillHnNiniMIIIHHIIimUIIIHIIMIIIIUHNIIHHIWUHIIIIUUIIIIIIIIIIUimmHIIUlim 

and  all  other  purposes  came  from  pumps  scattered  plentifully  about. 
In  fact  the  Berlin  that  we  first  knew  was  said  to  be  the  most  unsani- 
tary city  in  Europe. 

But  ah  me!  How  we  did  enjoy  our  stay!  How  we  did  revel  in 
music.  Dear  Heart  of  mine!  Going  every  evening  to  opera  or  con- 
cert.   The  prices  were  low  and  the  music  delightful. 

At  the  attractive  Royal  Opera  House  we  heard  the  Meistersinger 
and  the  Fliegende  Hollander.  The  only  singer  known  to  fame,  was 
Nieman,  with  a  beautiful  tenor  voice;  but  there  was  an  even  excel- 
lence in  the  entire  cast,  that,  with  a  fine  orchestra  and  chorus,  made  a 
finished  and  delightful  performance. 

Scattered  plentifully  over  the  house  were  women  busily  engaged 
in  knitting — they  were  wonderfully  expert,  only  looking  at  their 
work  when  placing  a  needle  in  a  new  position.  It  was  a  plainly 
dressed  audience,  and  in  marked  contrast  to  the  brilliant  spectacle 
presented  by  an  audience  at  Covent  Garden  Opera  House. 

At  that  time  chignons  were  the  fashion.  At  home  women  were 
wearing  them  of  moderate  size.  English  women  of  exaggerated 
size,  and  the  heads  of  the  German  women  did  look  odd,  with  their 
hair  closely  braided  and  pinned  down  flat  as  possible. 

The  opera  began  at  six  or  six-thirty  and  ended  at  ten  or  ten- 
thirty. 

When  we  did  not  go  to  the  opera,  we  went  to  a  Bilse  concert. 
The  concerts  were  given  in  a  large,  handsome  hall  by  a  fine  band  of 
seventy  musicians.  People  sat  crowded  around  tables.  All  the 
women  were  industrious;  the  middle-aged  knitting,  the  young  em- 
broidering, while  the  men  smoked  and  drank  beer.  At  intervals 
something  to  eat  would  be  ordered;  then  the  ladies  would  put  down 
their  work  and  every  one  in  the  party  would  have  beer — glasses  for 
the  ladies,  steins  for  the  men.  The  first  part  of  the  concert  was 
devoted  to  classical  music,  beautifully  rendered.  We  always  remained 
to  the  end,  enjoying  the  popular  music  of  the  second  part,  and  the 
student  songs,  and  marvelled  at  the  capacity  of  the  German  stomach 
as  we  saw  steins  of  beer  without  number  poured  into  it. 

In  addition  to  opera  and  concert,  there  was  the  martial  music — 
the  splendid  military  bands,  and  troops  marching  to  the  sound  of  fife 
and  drum.  Indeed  we  could  truthfully  say  that  our  days  began  with 
music,  for  every  morning  in  the  gray  dawn  of  the  short  winter  day 
there  marched  past  the  Hotel  de  Rome,  a  regiment  of  infantry  with 
one  of  those  incomparable  bands. 

We  heard  the  strains  of  music  faintly  at  first,  then  increasing 

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«iiwiiiMHiinm«iiiumiiuiHimnmiiiHunitnHHimmiiiHmimmK)miimimiiiHNniNimniiiniiminimiiiiiimnitiiiHniHinniHHiiiHniiiiiiiiiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

MWminMIUIUIIIMIIIIUHIIIIMIIUIIIIIHMMIHNIHnninilMnillllllllUnillllllUIIHMIMIIIIINUIIHUNIIIMUIIIMIUWMIUIIUniMIIIUIUHHUIIHIIHUIMinilinillHIIIUII^ 

until  with  a  gi'eat  volume  of  sound,  the  regiment  passed,  and  gradual- 
ly the  music  died  away  in  the  distance.  I  often  got  up  and  went  to 
a  window  to  see  and  admire  the  perfect,  rhythmic  marching  of  the 
men,  and  soon  knew  the  kind  of  music  that  brought  out  the  goose-step 
which  I  was  always  on  hand  to  see;  you  remarking  more  than  once, 
that  never  before  had  you  known  me  to  be  good  natured  over  any- 
thing that  deprived  me  of  my  morning  nap.  We  knew  of  course  that 
it  all  meant  war,  but  even  so,  we  realized  that  when  we  said  good-by 
to  Berlin  we  should  miss  the  well  built  officers  in  full  uniform,  with 
spurs  on  their  heels,  and  swords  that  clanked  on  the  sidewalks  as  they 
strode  along  with  bumptious  gait,  and  the  strains  of  martial  music 
that  so  frequently  filled  the  air. 

There  were  many  statues  and  monuments  in  the  streets  com- 
memorating heroes  and  victories.  We  found  some  good  pictures 
in  the  Museum  of  Art  and  in  the  New  Museum  a  series  of  pic- 
tures just  completed  by  Kaulbach,  then  past  seventy  years  of 
age.  The  pictures  delighted  us  so  much  that  we  wanted,  if  possible, 
to  see  the  artist,  and  one  day  we  stood  before  a  studio  door  that  bore 
upon  it  the  name — Wilhelm  von  Kaulbach.  Mr.  Kaulbach,  who 
spoke  English  fluently,  received  us  kindly  and  spoke  beautifully  of 
art  and  the  pleasure  his  work  had  given  him  through  his  long  life. 
He  asked  many  questions  about  "far  off  San  Francisco."  Indeed 
all  the  people  we  met  during  that  year  in  Europe,  with  whom  New 
York  was  a  familiar  word  and  Chicago  not  unheard  of,  spoke  of  San 
Francisco  as  being  at  the  uttermost  boundary  of  the  earth,  and  were 
much  interested  to  hear  of  the  railroad  that  spanned  the  Continent — 
marvelled  at  the  short  time — then  a  week — required  for  the  journey, 
and  marvelled  still  more  to  hear  of  the  comfortable  sleeping  cars. 

As  we  came  away  Mr.  Kaulbach  asked  if  we  had  noticed  a  small 
picture  of  his,  called  Dorothea  at  the  Well,  suggested  to  him  by  some 
lines  in  Goethe's  Herman  and  Dorothea.  Yes,  we  had  seen  the  pic- 
ture and  admired  it.  Then  Mr.  Kaulbach  turned  to  you  and  said: 
"Your  wife  reminds  me  of  the  young  friend  who  posed  for  that  pic- 
ture, now,  many  years  ago.  If  you  chance  to  see  it  again,  look  for 
the  hkeness." 

We  went  to  see  the  Royal  Palace!  We  presented  ourselves  at  a 
door  that  had  been  pointed  out,  and  an  armed  sentry  came  from 
his  box  and  conducted  us  to  la  room  where  about  a  dozen  people  were 
already  waiting.  When  twenty  had  assembled,  that  being  the  reg- 
ulation number,  a  guide  in  Court  livery,  carrying  a  big  bunch  of  keys, 
appeared.    We  followed  him  up  a  long,  winding,  inclined  way  to  a 

Page  Sixty-two 


•NUHHmmHinmtiHtmiiiniiiniuHiniiniiimnininiumumiiiminiiHHiiniiiiiiHiiiiiHiniiMinuiiiraniimuiiiiniiiiiniiiuimnHmiiimimiiiiimiiiiiiH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

WiiiwiuiiiiMiiiniMiiiiiMiiiiHiituHiiuiiHiHiiiiiHiniiiiiiitiitmiiiiuiHiinniitiiiiiitiiuMiiiiiiNiiiniiiiiiiMiitiaiiiiiiiiinHiniiiuiniiiiiiuitiiiininiiiiiH 

large  room,  where  from  la  chest  he  counted  out  twentj'-  pairs  of  enor- 
mous, white,  woolen  sHppers,  which  every  one  of  us  understood  were 
to  be  put  on  that  we  might  not  mar  or  scratch  the  highly  polished  in- 
laid floors.  As  you  and  others  were  stepping  into  the  slippers,  I 
whispered  to  you  that  I  would  not  put  any  on — that  I  had  no  nails 
in  my  shoes,  and  that  I  rather  not  see  the  old  palace.  I  was  all 
rebellion,  and  indignation.  You  answered  that  I  must  find  my  way 
out,  take  a  cab  and  go  to  the  hotel. 

The  guide  meanwhile  had  thrown  open  a  door  and  I  soon  found 
myself  alone  with  him — he  jingled  his  keys  and  glowered  at  me,  so  I 
jumped  in  the  one  remaining  pair  of  scows  and  found  that  I  could 
shuffle  with  the  best.  I  soon  caught  up  with  you  and  put  my  hand 
on  your  shoulder.  You  turned  your  dear  face  toward  me,  smiled, 
and  simply  said: 

"Glad  to  see  you.     I  thought  you  would  come." 

But  what  a  ridiculous,  comical  looking  crowd  we  were,  shuffling 
and  sliding  and  slipping  and  scuffing  along,  the  men  not  so  laughable 
as  the  women,  ^vith  one  big  white  foot  after  another,  appearing  and 
disappearing  from  beneath  their  dark  skirts. 

There  were  between  seven  and  eight  hundred  rooms  in  the 
palace,  most  of  them  large,  and  many  immense.  How  many  hun- 
dred we  shuffled  through  we  never  knew.  We  carried  away  in  our 
minds  a  confused  mass  of  what  we  had  seen:  Tapestries,  statues, 
pictures,  mirrors,  frescoes  and  precious  stones;  colored  marbles  and 
crystal  chandeliers;  bronze  balconies  and  floors  paved  with  mosaics; 
and  a  throne  room  glittering  with  gold  and  silver.  Sensible  old 
Emperor  William!  who  preferred  to  live  in  the  plain,  modest  edifice 
that  was  built  for  him  upon  his  marriage,  and  where  as  Crown 
Prince  he  took  his  bride  over  forty  years  ago. 

The  Thiergarten,  that  vast  park,  with  winding  paths  and  fine 
forest  trees,  was  a  pleasant  place  even  in  winter  and  we  enjoyed 
many  a  brisk  walk  there.  In  sunny,  sheltered  places,  nursemaids  in 
charge  of  chubby  German  children,  gathered.  These  girls  came  from 
little  hamlets  on  the  river  Spree,  and  wore  short  scarlet  skirts  that 
stood  out  like  balloons,  and  quaint  three-cornered  white  head  dresses. 

We  went  to  Potsdam  and  on  to  San  Sonci.  While  there, 
wandering  through  the  Orangery  a  sudden  darkness  fell  over  every- 
thing and  down  came  such  a  storm  of  rain  and  sleet  that  Frederick 
the  Great  and  Voltaire  and  all  the  associations  that  linked  them  with 
the  place  were  forgotten.    The  storm  continued  and  the  wind  blew 

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MiiittiiHnimnmiuiiiiiiiiiiitnniiniiiiiiiHMiiMuiimiitHiiimiiiiiHNiiiiimiimniiimiiiiinHiinmiuimiHiuiiiuiiiiiiiriiiiiiniiniiiiiiiiinuiHiiiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiiiiiiiiiiuiuiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiniininmitnniiitiuHuiuHiiiiiinHiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiuuiuuiiuiniiiiiuiiuiitiiiiitiitiiMiiunnuiuunHiiiiiiuiiniiiiiiiii^ 

icy  cold.     In  the  partial  shelter  of  a  cab  we  drove  to  the  railroad 
station  and  reached  Berlin  half  frozen. 

The  famous  "Unter  den  Linden"  disappointed  us  very  much. 
The  trees  were  small  and  scraggy  and  the  great  width  of  the  street 
dwarfed  all  the  buildings  upon  it;  but  the  lively  character  of  that 
mile  long  thoroughfare — from  the  Brandenburg  Gate,  to  the  circle 
of  fine  structures  at  the  other  end — made  it  ahvays  interesting  and 
attractive. 

Over  the  Brandenburg  Gate  in  a  chariot  with  four  horses  sat  the 
Goddess  of  Victory.  We  thought  of  that  Goddess,  when  six  months 
later  we  read  of  the  triumphal  march  through  the  portals  of  the  Gate. 
At  the  head  of  the  great  procession  rode,  not  the  King  of  Prussia, 
but  the  Emperor  of  a  united  Germany,  with  the  Crown  Prince 
Frederick,  Bismarck,  Von  Moltke  and  a  veteran  army  flushed  with 
victor}^,  and  welcomed  with  tumultous  joy;  while  France,  poor  mis- 
guided France  was  the  poorer  by  five  thousand  millions  of  francs 
indemnity,  and  the  rich,  beautiful  provinces  of  Alsace  and  Lorraine! 

From  Berlin  to  Dresden  in  five  hours.  We  traveled  for  the  first 
time  in  a  second  class  compartment  and  found  it  so  comfortable  and 
well  appointed  that  we  were  sorry  not  to  have  made  the  discovery 
sooner. 

Reaching  Dresden,  we  had  the  novel  and  pleasant  experience  of 
going  from  the  station  to  the  Hotel  de  Saxe  in  a  sleigh,  with  strings 
of  bells  on  the  harness  of  the  horses.  All  the  population  seemed  to 
be  out  sleigh-riding.  It  was  a  pretty  sight,  and  the  merry  jingling 
of  the  bells  was  a  musical  sound. 

That  evening  we  were  fortunate  in  hearing  a  delightful  sym- 
phony concert  by  an  orchestra  from  the  Court  Theater.  The  follow- 
ing morning  we  joined  a  party  going  to  the  Green  Vaults.  We  saw 
many  lovely  things;  works  of  art,  in  gold,  silver  and  ivory,  and  a 
dazzling  lot  of  jewels  valued  at — our  guide  book  said — 20,000,000 
dollars. 

Then  to  the  Royal  Picture  Gallery  in  the  New  Museum,  a  struc- 
ture of  immense  size  and  great  architectural  beauty.  And  the  pic- 
tures, the  glorious  pictures  of  that  large  and  rare  collection;  what  a 
treat  they  were!  At  one  end  of  the  gallery,  in  a  spacious,  handsome 
room,  we  saw  Raphael's  Sistine  Madonna.  Long  and  patiently  we 
waited  for  an  opportunity  to  rest  on  one  of  the  sofas  in  front  of  the 
picture,  where  enthusiastic  groups  of  people  sat  by  the  hour. 

We  were  to  leave  Dresden  for  Vienna  at  midnight,  and  to  while 

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ii»niiiiitiiinriniiiiHiuiiiHiiiMmiHiiiiiMiiMitiiiniintiiiiuiuiiMi»uitmiimtiHimH)iiiiiiHi»MiiniuMnK»iiitniiinitiiiiiiiniitHtiHitiHtiiiitniiiUHiiiiiutMHmitmiHm^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

.iiiHiiiiiiHiiiiiHiMUiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiinuiiiiumiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiHiiwwiHiiiiHiiiiiiMiiiiMiuiiiiMiiuiuHiiiiHiiiiMiiiiiiiniMinHunnuitinn 

away  the  time  we  went  to  hear  the  Opera  of  Zar  and  Zimmerman; 
poorly  sung  and  so  provokingly  short  that  at  nine  o'clock  we  found 
ourselves  with  three  hours  of  time  that  we  did  not  know  what  to  do 
with. 

At  three  the  next  morning,  the  wind  blowing  a  gale,  we  reached 
the  Austrian  border,  where  baggage  was  examined  and  we  changed 
cars.  We  rode  through  a  wintry,  uninteresting  country  and  at  four 
in  the  afternoon  were  in  Vienna. 

We  stopped  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  famous  for  the  excellence  of  its 
cuisine.  It  was  our  first  experience  at  such  an  expensive  hotel  and 
we  gave  ourselves  up  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  it.  Our  room  was 
luxurious,  and  the  dinners!  Well,  the  dinners  were  a  revelation;  de- 
iightful  in  variety  and  perfect  in  every  way.  The  delicate  soups,  the 
fish,  the  game,  and  the  delicious  ices  all  made  in  the  shape  of  the  fruit 
with  which  they  were  flavored.  Fortunate  it  was,  you  said,  for  your 
purse  and  your  constitution,  that  our  stay  was  to  be  short. 

And  in  the  morning  there  were  the  rolls  and  the  coffee!  That 
unequalled  Vienna  coffee,  and  those  unequalled  Vienna  rolls,  what  a 
;treat  they  were!  with  the  sweet,  unsalted  butter!  and  when  all  the 
rolls  had  vanished  and  you  told  the  waiter  to  bring  more,  he  looked 
surprised  and  embarrassed,  and  did  not  seem  to  understand. 

It  had  not  taken  us  long  to  discover,  how  completely  European 
thrift  entered  into  even  the  smallest  transaction,  and  thinking  that 
probably  an  extra  roll  or  two  could  not  be  included  in  our  portions, 
you  told  the  waiter  to  bring  another  order  of  coffee  and  rolls,  where- 
upon he  looked  even  more  surprised,  but  bowed  solemnly  and  slowly 
walked  away  to  fill  the  order. 

We  were  quite  captivated  by  Vienna  and  the  architectural 
beauty  of  its  many  new  streets,  although  on  the  Ring  Strasse — 
created  by  demolishing  the  fortifications — now  lined  wnth  imposing 
structures,  there  stood  in  1870  only  the  Grand  Opera  House,  and  a 
motley  collection  of  ill  assorted  buildings.  Inside  this  circle  was  the 
charming  "Old  Vienna,"  bits  of  which  are  always  shown  at  Interna- 
tional Expositions — queer,  quaint,  little  buildings  huddled  together 
in  the  most  picturesque  manner;  and  in  the  very  heart  of  "Old  Vien- 
na" that  fine,  massive  example  of  Medieval  architecture,  St.  Stephens 
Cathedral,  with  its  tall,  graceful,  tapering  spire.  Within  the  Cath- 
edral the  soft  light  that  filled  all  the  vast  space,  from  windows  of  old 
stained  glass,  the  beauty  of  the  slender  columns,  the  sculpture,  the 
monuments,  the  smell  of  incense,  and  more  than  all  else  perhaps,  the 
warmth  of  the  place,  so  gratified  and  satisfied  me,  that  I  was  loth  to 

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wintummiminHmiiimiitniitiimMiiinininiiiiitiiiiniiiniiiiiMiuiiiiininiiiiiHitiiHiniinintiiiiniimnnmmiiiiriiniittiiiitiiiiiuiiiiMnuMMiHHniiinniHininiHiiMunnnnnitni^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

(HnmiiNiniinuiiHitiiiiimiiiuiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiunHiitiiuiiiiiiiiHmiiiHiiiuimHiHiiiiiiiimwiiiiiiiiiiiiuHHiuiiuitiiiiiHnHiiiiiniiiiiiiinuuiHiniiiiitiiitiiiin^ 

follow  when  you  w^hispered,  We  must  go.  As  we  were  leaving,  a 
group  of  peasants,  men  and  women,  in  the  picturesque  costume  of 
their  pro\4nce  came  slowly  in,  and  knelt,  a  long  devotional  row,  before 
their  especial  shrine. 

In  the  Belvedere  and  Hofburg  Palaces,  and  in  private  galleries, 
we  saw  large  collections  of  beautiful  pictures,  antique  bronzes,  and 
varied  works  of  art. 

We  drove  in  the  fine,  large  park,  the  Prater,  and  climbed  to  the 
top  of  St.  Stephen's  Cathedral.  The  last  50  feet  of  the  climb  was 
something  to  remember — the  winding  stairway  was  on  the  outside  of 
the  spire,  with  only  a  slight  hand-rail  fastened  to  it.  To  be  450  feet 
from  the  ground,  with  a  high  wind  blowing,  and  nothing  to  anchor  to 
was  not  pleasant.  We  saw  the  city  beneath  us,  the  country  around 
and  the  winding  Danube,  but  when  we  reached  the  ground  again,  we 
asked  ourselves  and  each  other  whether  it  was  really  worth  while. 

We  had  admired  the  splendid  exterior  of  the  Grand  Opera 
House,  and  on  the  occasion  of  the  Beethoven  Festival  we  saw  the 
elegant  interior  to  great  advantage.  The  Opera  was  Fidelio,  the 
audience  a  brilliant  one,  and  the  music — as  at  Berlin — was  rendered 
with  even  excellence,  and  prices  were  moderate.  Two  evenings  we 
heard  a  Strauss  orchestra  play  the  bright,  sparkling  Strauss  music. 
The  concerts  were  given  in  a  beautiful  hall,  and  refreshments  were 
served  in  an  adjoining  room.  There  was  always  a  large  number  of 
handsome,  beautifully  gowned  women. 

We  went  to  a  Renz  Circus,  then  a  permanent  institution  in 
Vienna.  There  was  none  of  the  American  clown  business,  but  good 
music,  remarkable  horsemanship  and  clever,  amusing  acrobatic  feats. 

In  Vienna,  as  at  Berlin,  we  were  advised  to  drink  mineral  water, 
as  the  city  supply  came  from  surface  wells. 

No  romantic  girl  of  sixteen  ever  arrived  in  Venice  with  a  keener 
sensation  of  expectant  delight  than  I  felt  that  December  night,  when 
leaving  the  railroad  station,  we  stepped  into  a  gondola. 

We  made  our  way  through  devious  narrow  waterways,  and  when 
suddenly  we  emerged  upon  the  Grand  Canal,  flooded  by  glorious 
silvery  moonlight,  I  could  no  longer  keep  my  enthusiasm  to  myself, 
and  laying  my  hand  on  your  arm  I  said,  "Oh,  Dear  Heart,  isn't  this 
perfectly  delightful?" 

Even  I  felt  a  drop  in  the  temperature  when  you  answered,  "It 
might  be  for  an  Eskimo." 

I  accused  you  of  being  destitute  of  all  romantic  feeling,  but  had 

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«HHinHiHniiHiiiiiHMiiiiiiiiniiiiiinHniuHiMtiiiiiiiiiitiiiniiiiMiHiiiininmiininiiiiinuiMi(iMiiiiitmiinnmiiitiiiiiiniiitiinnirniinnnminitiiiiiiiimnmtiimtt^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

WHiiuiiMiniiiuMinnininiiHimiiiMiiiHiiiiiuiniiMiniiuiiiiiHiiniiiHHiiHniHiiHMiiiiiiiiiMiiwiiiiiiiiiiiMiiHiiiniiiiiminiiiiiMHiHiinuiiiiiiiiiMHiiMiuiuniHiiHiiiinHi^^ 

to  admit  that  it  was  cold,  and  next  morning  we  saw  all  the  roofs  in 
Venice  white  with  frost. 

From  the  Hotel  Danieli,  immediately  breakfast  was  over,  we 
hurried  to  the  Piazzi  of  St.  Mark. 

During  the  previous  summer,  in  our  old  home,  we  had  read 
Ruskin's  "Stones  of  Venice."  From  our  notes  we  knew  where  to 
look  for  the  most  delicate  traceries  and  most  elaborately  sculptured 
columns  in  the  Ducal  Palace.  Those  exquisite  columns  with  fruit 
and  flowers,  and  angels  and  birds  and  childrens'  heads  peeping  out 
from  beneath  the  leaves  and  tendrils;  and  the  arches  and  clover-leaf 
openings  against  the  blue  of  the  sky,  how  beautiful  it  was! 

From  Ruskin  too  we  knew  where  to  find  the  richest  inter- 
mingling of  color  in  the  facade  of  St.  Mark's  Cathedral  made  by 
those  exquisite  mosaics  on  their  background  of  gold.  That  splendid, 
brilliant  facade  with  glittering  domes  and  minarets,  columns  of 
porphyry  and  verd-antique,  and  over  the  door  the  four  famous 
horses  of  gilded  bronze.  Those  spirited,  wonderful  horses  that  had 
graced  the  triumphal  arch  of  Nero!  that  had  been  carried  by  Con- 
stantine  to  Constantinople  where  for  six  centuries  they  adorned  the 
Arch  of  that  great  Emperor !  that  for  another  six  centuries  had  digni- 
fied and  beautified  the  facade  of  St.  Mark's  Cathedral  in  Venice !  that 
had  been  captured  by  Napoleon  and  taken  to  gleam  and  glitter  on  the 
Arc  de  Triumph  in  Paris!  and  for  two  years  of  the  World  War — ^to 
protect  them  from  air  bombs  of  Austrian  vandals — had  lain  in  Rome 
buried  deep  in  the  caves  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo. 

The  Piazzi  of  St.  Mark!  What  a  fascinating  place  it  was!  The 
beautiful  Campanile  crowned  by  an  Angel  of  gold;  the  two  granite 
colmnns,  one  holding  aloft  the  patron  Saint  of  Venice,  the  other  the 
winged  lion  of  St.  Mark;  the  clock  tower  and  the  two  bronze  giants 
that  struck  the  hour;  the  pigeons,  the  plump,  sociable  pigeons;  and 
the  arcades  before  the  marble  structures  that  faced  the  square,  where 
shop  windows  displayed  such  beautiful  things  of  Venetian  manu- 
facture. 

We  were  looking  at  the  shop  windows  when  the  bronze  figures 
struck  the  hour  of  three.  We  had  completely  forgotten  our  lunch. 
We  went  to  Florian's,  drank  coff*ee  and  ate  cake.  We  were  tired, 
cold  and  hungry.  The  short  winter  day  was  practically  over  and  we 
returned  to  the  hotel.  We  found  in  the  long  saloon  a  half  dozen 
braziers  of  live  coals,  over  which  we  were  glad  to  warm  our  hands. 
Through  the  night  there  was  a  light  fall  of  snow  and  next  morning, 
not  only  roofs,  but  the  ground  was  white. 

Page  Sixty-seven 


■«NiHmiiuiiminimiHiiiHiuHiiiiMiiniMiitiiuiHiHiiiiiiiHiiiuiHMunimimmimmimiiinnuinniiNiin»mimiiHiiiiH»HHmiitintMimmtiimimHiiHnii»nH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MA  NY 

«iMiuwiiiiHiiniiiiuuiiiiiiiHMiiiiu(HiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiMiiimiiuniimiiitminiMimiitiiiiiiiuiiiiiiMiiiiimiiMimiiHHiiiiitiMiiHtitiiiiiuiiiMiuiiiiiiuintnimniii^ 

That  day  we  saw  the  magnificent  interior  of  St.  Mark's  Cath- 
edral. The  "famous  golden  altar  piece  with  its  blaze  of  gems  and 
gold,"  the  mosaics,  the  sculptured  marbles,  and  all  the  marvelous 
richness  and  opulence  that  have  won  for  it  the  name — "The  Church 
of  Gold."  Then  to  the  courtyard  of  the  Ducal  Palace  with  the 
beautiful,  chiselled  bronze  well  curbs  and  mosaic  pavement, — the 
splendid  marble  stair  case  and  the  colossal  statues  of  Mars  and 
Neptune, — then  through  room  after  room  glowing  with  color  from 
the  wealth  of  exquisite  frescoes  and  paintings — walls  and  ceilings 
(Covered  with  the  work  of  that  famous  group  of  Venetian  painters 
and  set  artistically  in  frames  of  gold.  Such  lovely  forms  and  faces 
and  such  beauty  of  color! 

From  the  Palace,  across  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  to  the  prison,  where 
we  groped  down  the  steps  to  the  dark,  stifling  cells.  Howells  has 
called  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  a  "pathetic  swindle"  and  we  were  glad  to 
let  it  go  at  that,  and  not  recall  the  horrible  things  we  had  read  of 
prisoners  in  those  dreadful  cells. 

We  went  to  the  Academy  of  Art  and  saw  some  fine  pictures, 
and  to  several  churches  that  had  famous  pictures,  but  the  churches 
were  so  bitterly  cold  that  one  glance  at  a  picture  no  matter  how 
jPamous  or  how  beautiful  sufficed  for  me. 

In  going  about  we  became  greatly  interested  in  the  people  we 
jsaw  in  the  streets.  The  women  and  girls  of  all  sizes  and  ages  were 
a  pinched,  forlorn  looking  lot.  All  dressed  alike  in  black  skirts,  and 
grey  woolen  shawls  folded  in  three  corners  and  worn  over  the  head 
and  shoulders,  only  the  face  being  exposed.  Poor  things!  It  was 
the  only  way  they  had  of  protecting  themselves  from  the  winter  cold. 
We  would  see  groups  of  them  gathered  at  a  well  for  water,  or 
crowded  in  a  little  shop,  and  several  times  in  sunny  door  steps  we 
came  upon  two  or  three  old  women  sitting  side  by  side  with  one 
scaldino  of  burning  charcoal  between  them ;  one  holding  it  on  her  lap 
with  her  hands  clasped  over  it  for  a  time,  and  then  passing  it  to  her 
companion.  Comparing  the  faces  we  saw,  with  the  lovely  ones  that 
had  looked  at  us  from  frames  of  gold  in  the  Doge's  Palace  that 
morning,  we  concluded  that  Titian  and  Tintoretto  and  Veronese  got 
the  exquisite  types  they  put  upon  their  canvasses  altogether  from  the 
Particians. 

Early  on  the  third,  and  last  morning  of  our  stay,  we  were  off  in 
a  gondola  gliding  along  the  Grand  Canal.  We  had  as  yet  but  a 
yague  idea  of  those  two  lines  of  palaces  that  adorned  the  graceful 
winding  of  that  wide  water-way.     Marble  palaces  rising  from  the 

Page  Sixty-eight 


timiiiiiiiinimiiiiiiHiiwniimiiiiiinuiiimniiimiNiinmiiiinniiiiNiunninimniiuinnttNiuiiiiiHMmimiimnMiimMiiiiiiumuiiNniniuiiunniHn^^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

•wiiiiiiHiiiiiiiHiiiHuiHiiHiiiiimiHHiiiiHuniiMiHiiniiiiiininiuiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiHiiiuiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiumiimiiuiniiiHiiuiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiHiniiin^ 

water  with  broad  flights  of  marble  steps,  and  tall  Venetian  posts,  that' 
in  times  long  past  bore  the  colors  of  the  family,  and  to  which  their 
gondolas  were  moored.  Even  the  plainest  of  the  palaces  had  a 
dignified  air,  while  many,  adorned  with  statuary,  columns,  balconies 
and  open  stone  work  were  indescribably  beautiful. 

We  slipped  softly  under  the  white  marble  arch  of  the  Rialto 
bridge,  and  picked  out  the  palaces  in  which  Byron,  Rogers,  the 
Brownings,  Wagner,  George  Eliot  and  others  had  lived  and  worked. 
We  talked  of  the  patricians,  "the  intelligent  magnificent  lords"  who 
had  spent  their  money  so  lavishly,  and  whose  names  were  inscribed 
in  the  Book  of  Gold ;  and  of  the  beautiful  women  in  sumptuous  attire, 
whose  faces  had  been  immortalized  by  the  artist's  cunning  hands ! 

We  went  to  Florence,  rested  for  the  night,  then  on  to  Rome  and 
the  Hotel  de  I'Europe. 

The  next  morning,  in  a  drizzling  rain,  we  got  a  number  of 
addresses  from  Cook's  agency  and  went  in  search  of  apartments.  In 
response  to  our  first  application,  the  door  at  which  we  knocked  was 
opened  by  an  untidy  Italian  woman — around  her  and  clinging  to  her 
skirts,  a  large  brood  of  untidy  children.  A  glance  told  us  the  place 
was  impossible  and  we  turned  away. 

Then  up  five  flights  of  stairs  where  you  pulled  a  red  cord,  that 
tinkled  a  little  bell.  A  slide  was  drawn  from  a  small  opening  in  the 
door.  We  were  surveyed  and  the  door  opened  by  a  tidy,  pleasant- 
faced,  elderly  English  woman,  with  whom  we  soon  arranged  terms. 
To  our  delight  Mrs.  B.  had  the  cockneyest  of  cockney  dialects.  In 
the  use  of  the  letter  "H"  she  was  recklessly  extravagant,  but  during 
the  month  we  were  with  her,  she  never  once  put  it  where  it  belonged. 

Mrs.  B.  had  the  sixth  piano  of  an  old  palace  and  our  two  good 
sized  rooms  were  pleasant.  Our  front  windows  faced  the  South 
and  would  get  the  sun  if  ever  it  shone  again.  The  neighborhood 
was  good  and  only  three  short  blocks  from  the  Corso,  where  fashion- 
able driving,  promenading  and  fine  shop  windows  would  always 
give  us  something  to  see  and  enjoy. 

In  the  afternoon,  with  our  light  luggage,  we  went  from  the  hotel 
to  our  newly  acquired  apartments  and  had  our  trunks  sent  there 
from  the  railroad  station. 

The  hall  porter  of  the  hotel  where  we  had  spent  the  night  advised 
us  to  go  to  the  Sistine  Chapel  for  the  services  held  there  on  Christmas 
eve.  ' 

We  had  heard  the  cannon  boom  from  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo 

Page  Sixty-nine 


«iminmiuniitiuiniiiitirHinumniiiititiiiiiiniininiiuiuMnHiiniiniminHiiiumiiimiinuiiiiMiiinumniinitinriiniiiiiiiNniiiiiiiuiHiiiiiinuiiuiiiiiniiiiiiiiinniiiiiiiiuniiiHni^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

'niiimuimiiuuiitiHiiMniimuiimiiiiiiuiiiMiuuiiiiiHHiuuuMiiniuMiimiiiiNiimiiiimmiiniiiiiitiiimiiiHiniiiiiimimitiitiiiiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiiiiMinn^ 

# 

to  give  notice  that  the  Holy  Season  had  begun  and  soon  after  we  took 
a  cab  and  went  to  the  Vatican.  We  waited  patiently  with  a  great 
crowd  until  the  doors  were  opened.  Inside,  we  soon  came  to  a  barrier 
beyond  which  we  were  not  permitted  to  go.  This  was  disconcerting 
and  disappointing.  You  made  inquiry  of  some  gentleman  and  were 
told  that  they  were  refused  admittance  beyond  the  barrier  because 
they  were  not  in  evening  dress;  that  the  formality  of  evening  dress 
for  gentlemen,  and  black  for  ladies,  with  black  lace  over  the  head 
must  be  observed. 

As  we  were  turning  away  a  cardinal  appeared,  his  long  scarlet 
train  carried  by  two  Priests  in  purple — then  another,  and  another, 
until  a  long  procession  of  gorgeous  Cardinals  and  Priests  passed 
beyond  the  barrier  and  in  the  distance  we  saw  them  take  their  seats 
upon  a  raised  platform. 

We  came  away  from  the  Sistine  Chapel  and  went  up  the  broad 
flight  of  marble  steps  that  leads  to  St.  Peters,  put  aside  a  heavy 
leather  curtain,  and  stood  within.  We  did  not  speak  or  walk  about. 
The  light  was  dim,  there  were  but  few  people  there,  and  never  again 
were  we  so  impressed  by  the  vastness  of  that  great  church. 

Through  many  months  in  San  Francisco  we  had  thought,  and 
planned,  and  talked  of  the  places  that  we  were  to  see  in  Europe ;  we 
had  always  hoped  and  expected  that  at  Christmas  time  we  should  be 
in  Rome.  Now  Christmas  Day  had  come,  and  tve  were  in  Rome. 
Settled  for  a  month  in  a  little  nest,  all  our  own,  with  guide  books  and 
maps,  and  our  necessary  belongings  about  us,  and  two  happier,  more 
contented  mortals  could  nowhere  have  been  found. 

Well  was  it  for  us  that  we  had  sunshine  within  ourselves  for 
Nature  was  giving  us  but  little.  We  were  awakened  on  Christmas 
morning  by  a  storm  of  thunder,  lightning,  pelting  rain  and  hail- 
stones against  the  window  panes.  We  had  buffeted  cold  and  damp 
since  the  days  of  our  stay  in  London.  To  my  shivering  complaints 
you  would  cheerfully  say,  "Never  mind,  dear,  we  shall  soon  be  in 
sunny  Italy."  Sunny  Italy  indeed!  with  snow  in  Venice  and  hail 
in  Rome! 

The  winter  happened  to  be  one  of  unusual  severity.  Some  time 
during  the  month  of  January — the  exact  date  my  pencil  failed  to 
record — trains  between  Rome  and  Florence  were  stalled  in  snow  for 
twelve  hours ;  and  through  the  narrow  streets  of  Rome  the  tramontana 
often  blew  its  icy  blasts  from  snow  covered  mountains. 

After  breakfast  we  drove  to  St.  Peters  for  the  Christmas  Mass. 
It  was  a  beautiful  ceremonial,  with  fine  music.    The  Mass  over,  we 

Page  Seventy 


iiiHMMiMniiiitiiirMiMiiiHiiiiiiMHiminMiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiinniiMiiiMHiiiiuiiHimiiiiHiiiiiiiniHiiiitnitiiiiiitiiiiuiitiiiiiiunniniiiiiHiiiiniiiHniiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiu^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

dHitiiniiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiMunuiiiHinHiiniiiiuMiiiiniiiiiniHiiiiHiiniiiimiiimiiiiiiiiiHiutiiiiiiimniiiimiiiiiiitimiimiiitiiiurnriiniiimuiiHiiHiinin 

wandered  from  one  splendid  chapel  to  another;  everywhere  marble 
and  bronze  and  gilding  and  magnificent  monuments.  We  stood  be- 
neath the  great  dome  full  of  wonder  at  the  beauty  and  grandeur 
of  it.  We  looked  at  the  bronze  statue  of  St.  Peter  and  the  many 
who  reverently  kissed  the  great  toe  of  an  extended  foot.  That  poor 
toe,  it  will  never  be  kissed  away,  but  must  grow  stubbier  and  stub- 
bier year  by  year  from  the  rubbing  people  give  it  before  they  kiss  it. 

When  we  were  thoroughly  tired  we  left  the  church  and  from  the 
steps  hailed  a  cab,  and  oh,  the  luxury  of  those  Roman  cabs!  so  cheap 
and  so  comfortable,  that  would  carry  us  a  mile  or  two  for  a  sum  no 
larger  than  what  we  paid  to  ride  a  few  blocks  in  a  street  car  in  San 
Francisco,  and  the  small  gratuity  with  which  the  driver  was  content 
added  but  little  to  the  cost  of  the  ride. 

We  had  read  and  been  told  of  the  extortion  practised  by  all 
European  hotel  keepers  in  the  matter  of  candles,  and  that  two  or 
three  "bougies"  appeared  each  day  in  the  items  of  the  bill  rendered. 
They  were  fine  large  bougies,  and  gave  a  good  light,  as  it  was  proper 
they  should,  since  they  were  the  chief  means  of  lighting  the  rooms, 
and  cost  twenty  cents  each.  The  extortion  was,  that  although  you 
may  have  only  burned  an  inch  or  two  of  your  tall  bougies  one  night, 
the  next  night  you  found  two  fresh  ones,  that  you  must  either  light, 
or  go  to  bed  in  the  dark;  so  you  grumbled  at  the  swindle  and  lighted 
the  bougies,  which  when  going  away  it  was  the  habit  of  tourists  to 
carry  with  them.  Several  times  you  had  seen  me  slyly  transferring 
bougies  from  my  hand  bag  to  the  large  grip  that  was  carried  with 
us  in  the  cars,  and  you  had  remonstrated  and  told  me  not  to  do  it, 
but  I  continued  to  carry  away  the  bougies,  only  being  more  careful 
that  you  should  not  catch  me  in  the  act,  and  not  having  the  remotest 
idea  of  how,  or  when,  they  could  be  used;  but  when  I  awoke  on 
Christmas  morning  the  first  thing  that  flashed  through  my  mind 
were  the  bougies,  and  the  use  to  which  they  could  be  put.  After 
breakfast  I  told  Mrs.  B.  about  them  and  that  I  wanted  a  grand 
illumination  for  our  Christmas  dinner.  She,  good  soul,  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  it  at  once  and  through  the  day  pressed  into  service 
everything  that  could  be  made  to  hold  a  candle.  While  you  were 
in  the  bedroom  looking  for  something  in  your  trunk,  we  carried 
the  candles  and  lighted  them  in  the  sitting  room, — a  row  on  the 
mantle, — a  row  on  a  shelf  under  a  mirror,  and  the  rest  scattered 
about  singly  or  in  groups.  On  the  table  set  for  our  dinner  were  the 
flowers  you  had  brought  me,  and  a  handsome  brass  lamp  (in  which 
olive  oil  was  burning)  gave  a  soft,  clear  light.    Holly  wreaths  with 

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iltwinuiHuiiiimMmiHiimiuiiiiiiiinitiiiniiiuiniitHiiuiiHiiHiMHiiiiuiniiiiNiiuiiiinuiiMiiMnHiinimiiiHininiiiMiMiiuiiiUMnuiuiiiitiiiiiitiiiuniHiuiiuiiu 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

»iuin<iHHUiiiimMiiiiwiiiiiHiiHiiuiiiiiuiii»HuiHiiHuiuMiiiiiiiiiMHiniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiHniiiiiiiuiiuiiiiiiiiiiHiiitiimimiiMinnniiiiiiiniHiHnitniiniiiiiuiiiu 

shining  red  berries  hung  in  the  windows  and  a  cheerful  fire  glowed  in 
the  grate.  When  you  came  into  the  room  and  saw  the  grand  illum- 
ination, your  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure. 

"Well!  how  do  you  like  it?"  I  asked. 

With  a  ringing  laugh  you  answered,  "How  do  I  like  it?  Why, 
my  dear,  it  is  fine,  and  worth  all  the  trouble  you  have  taken." 

Then  Mrs.  B.  served  the  dinner,  and  an  excellent  dinner  it  was! 
When  we  got  down  to  the  plum  pudding  you  declared  you  had  never 
eaten  of  one  so  good  and  that  had  so  many  plums  in  it!  After  the 
dinner  was  cleared  away  we  sat  before  our  cheerful  fire  "over  the 
walnuts  and  the  wine,"  happy,  oh,  so  blissfully  happy,  with  the  glad- 
ness of  children  in  our  hearts! 

And  so  ended  our  Christmas  Day  in  Rome ! 

Our  dinners  came  from  a  rotisserie  and  were  nicely  served  by 
Mrs.  B.  They  were  brought  in  metal  pans  fitting  closely  into  each 
other,  and  beneath  was  a  lighted  lamp.  Soup,  fish,  an  entree,  poultry 
or  birds  of  some  kind,  and  vegetables.  Over  the  pan,  that  was  in  com- 
partments and  held  the  vegetables,  was  a  cover  that  cut  off  the  heat, 
and  left  the  salad  that  came  next,  crisp  and  cool.  Then  a  tart  or 
pudding  or  ice  cream  and  cake.  To  these  you  supplemented  rolls 
and  butter;  cheese  and  olives;  chianti  wine  in  pretty  flasks,  nuts 
and  raisins  and  after  dinner  coffee. 

Awaiting  you  at  Cook's  was  a  large  package  of  your  favorite 
Souchong  tea  ordered  from  London,  and  with  eggs,  jam,  marmalade, 
a  little  flask  of  cream  and  plenty  of  good  rolls  and  sweet  butter,  our 
breakfasts  were  as  perfect  as  our  dinners.  Our  lunches  we  got 
wherever  it  was  most  convenient,  Mrs.  B.  preparing  them  when  we 
remained  at  home. 

There  had  been  a  stipulated  price  agreed  upon  that  was  to  cover 
everything,  including  Mrs.  B's  services,  and  when  at  the  end  of  our 
first  week  she  came  in  with  a  bill,  she  said  there  were  a  few  things  she 
had  forgotten  and  hoped  you  would  not  object  to  paying  the  small 
additional  charge.  You  looked  at  the  bill  and  said,  "Not  at  all,"  and 
I  saw  that  instead  of  being  vexed,  you  were  very  much  amused. 
After  Mrs.  B.  left  the  room  you  handed  me  the  bill,  at  the  end  of 
which  I  read: 

Brick  dust  for  scouring  carving  knife  and  fork,  1  penny. 
Soap  for  washing  dish  towels,  2  pence. 
Polish  for  silver  ware,  2  pence. 

Dear  old  soul!    She  put  those  items  on  the  bill  every  week  and 

Pd^e  Seventy-two 


«mmiiiiniiiniiiiiiHiiiiiniiiimitwiiiinHiuimimmmHminiiitiitmimmtimimmnniuiiiiiinnnmflnnimHumntimu:iiiiuimiiiutHniiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

miiiiiiiHiiniiiHiiiiiuiniiMiuiuiiiiininiHiiiiiiMiuiiHuiiiiuiiiiiiHunumiitiiuminiHHmiiiMMUiiinnmuiiiiiiiniiuMHiuHtuiiiiiiniiiiiniiiHiHUiiiiiiuiiiiHiiiiiuii^ 

always  apologized  for  not  having  remembered  them  at  the  proper 
time. 

The  rain  was  persistent.  We  went  to  see  galleries  of  pictures 
but  the  light  was  too  poor  to  enjoy  them. 

On  the  morning  of  the  28th,  Mrs.  B.  came  tapping  at  our  door 
very  early  to  say  that  if  we  would  look  from  a  window  in  the  front 
room,  we  would  see  water  in  the  Corso.  The  embankment  had  not 
yet  been  built  and  the  "y^Uow  Tiber"  frequently  left  its  bed,  but 
seldom  went  so  far  afield  as  on  this  occasion.  You  dressed  hurriedly 
and  went  out.  You  found  eight  feet  of  water  in  the  Corso  and  boats 
going  up  and  down,  carrying  food  to  some  houses,  and  rescuing 
people  from  others.  That  night  when  we  closed  our  window  blinds 
the  water  had  reached  within  twenty  feet  of  our  house  and  we,  too, 
expected  to  be  marooned,  but  the  following  morning  the  rain  had 
ceased  and  the  water  had  receded  to  the  Corso.  There  was  much 
suffering.  The  area  of  flooded  territory  was  large  and  many  blocks 
of  houses  submerged.  Benefits  were  given,  subscription  lists  opened 
and  day  after  day  a  couple  of  nuns,  priests,  or  members  of  a  com- 
mittee climbed  the  stairs  to  our  rooms  for  aid.  They  never  went  away 
empty-handed,  but  we  did  wish  they  would  not  always  come  at  our 
dinner  hour. 

A  friend  among  the  Catholic  Clergy  of  San  Francisco  had 
given  you  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Cardinal  Antonelli,  and  one  day 
near  the  end  of  the  year  we  went  to  the  Vatican  to  present  it.  A 
member  of  the  Swiss  Guard  took  the  letter  and  your  visiting  card  to 
the  Cardinal  and  we  were  soon  admitted.  Cardinal  Antonelli  re- 
ceived us  kindly.  There  were  many  books  and  works  of  art  in  the 
large  room  where  he  sat,  but  oh,  so  miserably  cold!  During  our  stay 
he  had  his  hands  constantly  stretched  over  a  brazier  of  burning  char- 
coal. I  noticed  that  the  brazier  was  one  of  great  beauty,  also  that 
the  thin  hand  he  extended  was  icy  cold.  The  Cardinal  spoke  in 
French.  The  weather  and  inundation  were  discussed  and  questions 
about  San  Francisco  and  your  mutual  friend  asked  and  answered. 
Then  the  Cardinal  asked  if  he  could  do  anything  for  you.  You 
answered,  "My  wife  wants  very  much  to  see  the  Pope."  I  hurried 
to  add,  "And  to  be  present  at  a  Mass  where  the  Pope  officiates." 

The  Cardinal  looked  at  me  intently  with  his  piercing  eyes.  "Do 
you  wish  it  very  much?"  he  asked. 

"Very  much  indeed.  Cardinal  Antonelli,"  I  answered. 

The  Cardinal  asked  for  your  address,  which  he  wrote  upon  your 
visiting  card,  then  giving  you  admission  cards  for  a  week  to  the  gal- 

Page  Seventy-three 


HiiiitiiniinriMiiiiiiMMmniiiMiiiiiiiiiniiiiniiHiMMiiiiiiiiiinitiiiimiiintmiiiiHmHiiniiimiiiniuiiHiHHiiiiiiiinimuiiiiiniiiiMMiimiimiiiniiiiniimiMtiiuniinnin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

'HiiinMiniiinNininiMiimiiiiiMiiuiiiiuiMiinuiiHiHiiiiiiiiiininitiiiiiMiiuiuiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiniiuitiHiiimniiiniiMiiMuiiiiiMuuinnniiimiiiinniMiiiiiiiiiiu^ 

leries  and  library  of  the  Vatican,  he  asked  if  we  would  like  to  see  the 
Vatican  gardens.  Hearing  that  we  would,  he  raised  his  hand  and  an 
attendant  came  forward,  to  whom  he  gave  instructions  in  Italian. 
The  Cardinal  rose  and  the  interview  was  at  an  end.  He  gave  us 
each  in  turn  that  cold,  thin  hand  and  hoped  we  would  enjoy  our  stay 
in  Rome. 

We  followed  the  attendant  to  another  functionary  with  whom 
we  went  up  a  flight  of  steps  and  through  a  door  opening  on  a  ter- 
race that  commanded  an  extensive  view.  The  gardens  were  formal 
but  very  charming.  Sheltered  from  the  wind,  flowers  were  blooming 
in  profusion.  There  were  many  fountains  and  statues,  and  long  ave- 
nues of  beautiful  trees. 

As  we  drove  away  from  the  Vatican  we  talked  of  the  Cardinal. 
"Howells  says  that  'Cardinal  Antonelli  has  the  wickedest  face  in  the 
world.'  It  may  be  wily,  but  I  would  not  call  it  wicked,"  you  re- 
marked. 

"But  his  eyes.  Dear  Heart,"  said  I,  "did  you  ever  see  such 
eyes?    They  pierce  one  through  and  through." 

We  speculated  whether  anything  would  come  of  the  interview. 
The  Cardinal  had  been  kind  and  polite  but  we  both  noticed  that  he 
had  promised  nothing. 

We  had  been  invited  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  T.  Buchanan  Read  to 
attend  a  reception  they  were  giving  that  evening  to  Gen.  Sheridan. 
It  was  a  delightful  occasion!  Mr.  Read  read  his  spirited  poem, 
"Sheridan's  Ride,"  unveiled  his  equally  spirited  picture  of  Gen. 
Sheridan  on  horseback,  and  his  admirable  bust  of  Sheridan,  all  work 
of  a  high  order. 

The  American  artists  settled  in  Rome  were  there,  Story,  Rogers, 
Ives,  Miss  Hosmer  and  others.  All  the  American  colony  were  there. 
The  Stars  and  Stripes  were  draped  gracefully  about  the  rooms, 
patriotic  airs  were  sung  and  everybody  fraternized  with  every  other 
body.  It  was  like  a  company  of  old  friends  rather  than  the  gather- 
ing of  many  birds  of  passage  from  widely  separated  haunts.  As  host 
and  hostess  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Read  were  charming,  putting  every  one  at 
their  ease,  and  Gen.  Sheridan  was  the  personification  of  cordial 
geniality.  He  was  so  glad  to  meet  someone  from  San  Francisco — 
he  asked  question  after  question  about  the  City,  and  spoke  with  great 
enthusiasm  of  the  State.  In  our  final  little  chat  with  the  General  as 
we  said  good-by,  his  last  words  were:  "I  shall  never  be  entirely 
happy  and  contented  until  I  see  California  again." 

On  the  way  home,  you  remarked,  "This  has  been  a  red-letter  day 

Page  Seventy-four 


lUHiiiiHHiiiiiiiniuHHHiiHiiiuuiiiciMuiiimMMiniiiiiiiiHiiiiiiitmmNmimNmimiiiiiNmiiiiimiiHimuumiNiiiiiuiiiniiiiuiHimHnuiiiiiiiHmtiuiiuniiiuHn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

itiiniiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiimiiniiiiiiniiiHHnunitnniniiiiiiniinHinnniitiiiiimiiinmiiiiumiiiiMiiiniiiiiiMHmiiHiiHuimunnniiiiinniiniiiiimimuuninuiiiiiiiii 

for   celebrities — Cardinal   Antonelli   in   the   morning   and    General 
Sheridan  in  the  evening." 

Rome  was  annexed  to  the  Kingdom  of  Italy  only  three  months 
before  our  visit  to  the  "Eternal  City"  and  Victor  Emmanuel  still 
lingered  at  Florence,  out  of  deference  to  the  Pope's  feelings,  it  was 
said;  and  although  it  had  been  decided  that  Rome  should  be  the 
capital  of  Italy  it  was  not  until  the  following  July  that  the  King  took 
up  his  residence  at  the  Quirinal  Palace  and  made  it  so. 

For  several  days  the  newspapers  had  been  full  of  notices  that 
the  King  would  soon  visit  Rome.  December  31  they  announced  that 
he  would  arrive  at  two  o'clock  that  day. 

We  took  a  cab  in  the  Corso,  turned  off  in  a  side  street  and  waited 
for  the  procession  to  pass.  King  Victor  Emmanuel  had  an  escort  of 
some  twenty  gentlemen.  He  was  splendidly  mounted,  looked  hand- 
some and  kingly  and  received  an  ovation  that  must  have  touched  his 
heart.  Hats  were  thrown  in  the  air,  flags  and  handkerchiefs  waved, 
and  the  wildest  enthusiasm  prevailed.  Cheers,  and  Viva  il  Re,  Viva 
il  Re,  and  Viva  I'ltalia  were  heard  on  every  side.  We  followed  the 
procession  to  the  Quirinal  Palace  within  which  the  King  had  disap- 
peared. He  came  out  upon  a  balcony  and  again  the  crowd  went  wild 
with  vivas.  Even  Nature  had  smiled  a  welcome  on  the  King;  but 
while  we  loitered  in  the  Palace  square  admiring  the  fine  bronze  horses 
and  their  tamers,  the  sun  suddenly  disappeared  and  down  came  the 
rain. 

Although  the  New  Year  did  not  bring  warmer  air,  it  brought 
clearer  skies  and  busy  weeks  for  us.  Our  first  expedition  was  to  the 
Capitoline  Hill.  Up  the  broad  staircase,  with  lions  at  the  bottom, 
and  the  colossal  horse  taming  group  at  the  top,  to  the  square  of  the 
Capitol,  and  the  noble  bronze  statue  of  Marcus  Aurelius ;  then  down 
to  the  forum;  on  and  on;  our  way  lined  on  both  sides  with  broken 
shafts  and  capitals,  remnants  of  columns,  lines  of  broken  wall  and 
arches,  to  that  "ruin  of  ruins"  the  Coliseum.  We  walked  about  in 
the  vast  area,  explored  the  galleries  beneath,  and  climbed  the  steep 
flights  of  steps  to  the  uppermost  story  from  where  we  viewed  the 
City  and  distant  snow-crowned  mountains. 

By  the  time  we  reached  Italy  we  were  familiar  with  great 
pictures  by  the  old  Masters,  but  the  antique  sculpture  of  the  Vatican 
and  Capitol  Museum  was  a  revelation  to  us  in  the  realm  of  art! 

Works  of  the  imagination,  ideal  in  their  beauty  or  strikingly 
powerful,  and  the  wonderful  portrait  statues  and  busts  of  the  old 
Greeks  and  Romans.    How  well  they  knew  the  secrets  of  the  chisel. 

Page  Seventy-five 


•ininiiMRiniiniiMuninmiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiinniiiHtmuiiiMiiinuiiinniHHiimnmiiiimnmniiiiiiiiniiHiHuiiiiimiNnnHiiiiiMiiiinmiiiiiiMiiiimiiHnHi^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

(UiiiuiiiiMniuinuuuiiuiiuiiMiiuiiiiMiiiiMiniMniiiiiiiiimMiiiiiitinmiiiiiiiiniinHniiHrniiiitiuiiiiiniHMiiiiuiiMiiiiHiiHiiitniiniinHiiiiMiiiiiiHMnHiiiiiniHii^ 

those  splendid  old  sculptors!  who  put  into  those  forms  of  stone  such 
beauty,  animation,  dignity  and  expression!  and  what  drapery!  folds 
of  marble  looking  soft  and  pliable  as  a  tissue  of  silk! 

We  saw  the  pictures  of  Raphael  in  the  Vatican,  and  the  work  of 
Michael  Angelo  on  the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel.  We  went  to  the 
Lateran  Museum  to  see  the  Statue  of  Sophocles ;  to  the  Palace  of  the 
Conservatori  to  look  at  the  bronze  Capitohne  Wolf  with  Romulus 
and  Remus;  to  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli  to  see  Michael  Angelo's  statue 
of  Moses. 

We  studied  the  Triumphal  Arches,  and  the  forums  of  the  differ- 
ent Emperors.  We  went  to  the  Ghetto  "that  May-fair  of  rags,  and 
high  carnival  of  old  clothes," — to  the  top  of  Monte  Testaccio  for  the 
view,  and  drank  wine  from  the  cellars  beneath.  We  drove  over  the 
bridges;  went  through  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo;  looked  at  the 
columns  in  the  piazzas  and  at  the  Egyptian  obelisks.  We  went  to  the 
Capitoline  church  to  see  the  "presepe,"  a  life  size  representation  of 
the  Nativity  with  the  miraculous  Bambino  as  the  Holy  Child.  We 
looked  at  the  Tarpeian  Rock,  and  took  a  short  ramble  in  one  of  the 
Catacombs.    We  went  to  the  Protestant  Cemetery. 

We  saw  men  and  women  going  reverently  up  the  Scala  Santa 
on  their  knees.  We  drove  on  the  Appian  way  to  see  the  ruined 
tombs  and  the  beautiful,  unimpaired  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella.  We 
looked  at  the  line  of  arches  of  the  great  aqueducts  stretching  away  on 
the  dreary  Campagna,  where  buffaloes  and  gray  oxen  with  wonder- 
ful long  horns  were  roaming,  and  peasants  were  making  their  mid- 
day meal  on  onions  and  brown  bread.  We  saw  the  terraces  and  tow- 
ers and  gates  of  the  old  Roman  walls.  We  saw  the  baths  and  palaces 
and  theaters;  only  ruin  strewn  ground  and  crumbling  walls  of 
masonry,  but  magnificent  in  their  proportions. 

The  season  was  winter  and  the  wind  high  and  cold  but  the 
fountains  were  always  a  delight.  The  clear,  sparkling  water  so 
abundant  in  volume.  Water  rushing  from  mossy  grottoes;  water 
blown  from  the  mouths  of  dolphins,  and  from  the  shells  of  Tritons; 
water  splashing  and  murmuring  and  shooting  up  from  basins  in 
columns  of  spray.  How  beautiful  they  were,  those  glorious  fountains 
of  Rome! 

We  loitered  at  the  Spanish  Stairs  where  models  basked  in  the 
sun  and  girls  and  women  in  picturesque  Roman  costume  sold  flowers ; 
sometimes  we  climbed  the  stairs — no  elevators  then — to  the  church  of 
Trinta  de  Monti  to  hear  the  nuns  sing  at  the  Vesper  hour. 

An  interesting  feature  of  the  street  life  of  Rome  during  the 

Page  Seventy-six 


MHHNiiiiHimiiwHmimHiiiiittiimmniimiiitwnuniHimiMmiHmNumiHMHttHimimuitutimraimMiHiuMmnHiiiniuiHmHiimiminiiniuinmnimniimtmi^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

MiMinHniniHiuMiHuniiHiumiHHiimiiriiiitHiuiiuiHHiimiiitnimiiiHiiiiHimmnMmHnHiuiiiiiiiiuiiNiiuiHiHiiiniHiuiiiiiiimuiuiuiiiiiiiiiuiiiiit 

Holy  Season,  and  beginning  of  the  New  Year  had  been  the  peasants 
that  came  from  the  country  around.  Poor  creatures  that  hved  in 
the  ruined  tombs  on  the  Appian  Way ;  and  handsome  men  and  women 
from  Trastevere.  The  men  with  black  velvet  jackets  thrown  over 
one  shoulder,  and  broad  crimson  sashes, — the  women  in  black  velvet 
bodices  laced  with  gold  cord,  scarlet  aprons,  and  long  ear-rings.  Tall, 
majestic  women,  with  brilliant  black  eyes  and  their  abundant  jet 
black  hair  covered  with  soft  colored  silk  nets,  held  in  place  by  large 
silver  pins. 

Then  there  were  the  pifferari  from  the  mountains  who  came  to 
Rome  to  play  and  sing  before  the  shrines  of  the  Madonna  scattered 
over  the  city.  How  picturesque  they  were !  Their  high  hats  adorned 
with  a  peacock's  feather,  bright  colored  jackets,  skin  sandals,  leggings 
laced  to  the  knees  and  over  all,  a  long,  dark  blue  cloak.  There  were 
always  two,  often  father  and  son,  and  the  music  was  very  weird, — 
bagpipe  and  pastoral  pipe.  In  turn  each  would  sing.  The  singing 
was  seldom  good,  but  the  two  instruments  played  together  made  a 
singularly  touching  kind  of  music. 

Others  of  the  pifferari  wore  loose  sheep  skin  garments  with  the 
wool  left  on,  their  tall  hats  trimmed  with  bright  ribbons  and  long 
streamers  that  fluttered  in  the  wind.  They  too  went  playing  from 
shrine  to  shrine  but  their  pipes  were  harsh  and  discordant. 

Beggars  came  in  swarms,  and  for  two  weeks  were  allowed  to  beg 
unmolested ;  then  banished  from  Rome,  Southward  from  whence  they 
came.    Poor,  wretched,  maimed,  crippled,  mutilated  human  beings ! 

One  Saturday  we  went  to  see  the  lottery  drawing  that  took  place 
on  the  large  balcony  of  an  old  palace.  The  balcony  was  festooned 
with  flags;  on  it  were  a  half  dozen  officials  in  clerical  dress,  and  a 
glass  barrel.  At  noon  there  was  the  blast  of  a  trumpet  and  a  little 
boy  appeared  dressed  in  white.  The  barrel  was  whirled,  the  boy 
drew  out  a  number  and  an  official  called  it  out  in  a  loud  voice.  The 
trumpet  sounded,  and  the  drawing  went  on.  The  square  in  front  of 
the  palace  was  crowded  with  poor,  anxious  men  and  women  holding 
charms  and  repeating  prayers  over  the  little  slips  of  paper  on  which 
their  numbers  were.    We  saw  no  one  draw  a  winning  number. 

Going  out  one  morning  we  noticed  that  the  mane  and  tail  of 
every  horse  was  braided,  and  decked  profusely  with  bright  colored 
ribbons.  You  questioned  a  Roman  gentleman  who  explained  that  it 
was  the  festival  of  Saint  Antonio,  the  patron  saint  of  all  four-footed 
iSinimals,  and  that   every  horse  in   Rome  would  be   driven  to  the 

Page  Seventy-seven 


wiiHiniiiimimumwimniinimimiiiiinininimiminiinninnmtmiiminiimnmmmiiniinnnnnRtiintmramimimiiminiimitmtniniiiinm 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iHiiiinHuiuiiniiiiHiiiniiiiMuitniiiiiiiiiiiniinmiitiiiiiniiiHiiiMnuinnmHnMimiiiiiinniiiiiiiiMtiituimMimiiiMiiuiiimiiiiHiiiiiiiiHiniiiiiiiMuimiiiMiiMiMi^  iiiiiniiiiHNa 

Church  for  a  sprinkling  of  Holy  Water  that  it  might  go  in  safety- 
through  the  coming  year. 

You  hailed  a  cab  and  told  the  driver  to  take  us  to  the  Church 
of  Saint  Antonio.  He  was  a  happy,  talkative  old  cabby  and  very 
proud  to  tell  us  that  he  owned  all  his  equipage — and  so  shabby,  so 
very  shabby  it  was!  Frequently  he  would  exclaim  "Si,  tutto  mio, 
tutto  mio"  and  give  his  whip  such  a  resounding  crack  that  the  old 
horse  would  jump  as  though  he  had  been  struck.  In  answer  to  the 
question,  "No  his  horse  had  not  yet  been  blessed — he  had  been  waiting 
to  carry  someone  to  the  Church,  and  he  was  glad  (turning  to  bow) 
that  the  Signore  and  Signora  would  see  the  benedizione." 

It  was  a  long  procession.  Animals  of  all  conditions  carrying 
people  of  all  conditions.  Donkeys  with  streamers  of  colored  paper, 
and  handsome  carriage  horses  with  bows  of  ribbon.  A  priest  stood  at 
the  church  door  with  a  long  pole,  on  the  end  of  which  was  tied  a  bunch 
of  something,  from  which  he  shook  a  few  drops  of  water  on  the  head 
of  every  animal  as  it  passed. 

Our  month  with  Mrs.  B.  had  been  one  of  comfort  and  complete 
satisfaction  with  two  exceptions,  both  beyond  good  Mrs.  B's  control. 

On  returning  from  St.  Peters  on  Christmas  Eve,  we  had  found 
the  hallways  in  total  darkness.  You  spoke  to  Mrs.  B.  about  it.  She 
said  she  was  sorry,  but  the  landlord  refused  to  furnish  any  more 
lamps — that  several  times  during  the  three  years  she  had  been  there 
he  had  tried,  but  if  the  lamps  were  not  all  stolen  the  first  night,  they 
were  sure  to  disappear  on  the  second  or  third — that  the  landlord  had 
tried  lamps  with  chains  attached  and  fastened  to  the  woodwork,  but 
lamps  and  chains  disappeared  and  then  it  had  been  completely  given 
up. 

Mrs.  B.  then  showed  you  what  people  used  as  a  substitute  for 
lighted  halls  and  stairways.  It  was  a  taper  about  a  foot  long,  some- 
what larger  than  a  lead  pencil,  made  of  soft  wax,  and  coiled  to  fit 
neatly  in  a  small  covered  box,  and  you  at  once  purchased,  for  the 
merest  trifle,  one  Mrs.  B.  had  on  hand.  There  was  no  concierge  and 
the  entrance  door  stood  open  day  and  night,  and  for  a  long  time  I 
was  in  dread  of  some  wicked  Italian  lurking  in  the  dark  corners  with 
a  knife  or  dirk,  and  lying  in  wait  for  us.  Occasionally  we  would  meet 
a  lodger  from  one  of  the  other  pianos  and  if  he  was  not  carrying  a 
light  my  heart  would  jump  to  my  throat,  until  we  were  greeted  by  a 
pleasant  "Buona  Sera."  Sometimes  we  passed  a  toiler  going  up,  and 
sometimes  we  w^ere  passed,  always  with  a  salutation,  and  the  little 
tapers  would  give  the  momentary  glimpse  of  a  form,  that  would 

Page  Seventy-eight 


«HHiiiiiiniiiiiiitiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin iiinninHiniininuiiiiiiiiiiitiimiiiiiiiititniiMiniiiiiiiiiiiniiiinniimittniniiiiHiiMiniiiunMniiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiuiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinininimima 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

amiuiiiiiiiittiiiiiiimmiMiii in i iiiMiiiiiiini iiiiiinitiiiiiiiiiinniiiinmitiimiiiiiiiiiimniiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiimiimii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimuiiiuim 

quickly  be  lost  in  the  darkness.  You  could  never  quite  laugh  away 
my  fears,  and  although  no  disturbing  incident  occurred,  I  was  always 
glad  when  the  door  of  our  room  closed  between  us  and  the  blackness 
of  the  halls. 

The  other  complaint,  was  being  watched  and  spied  upon  by 
people  opposite.  The  street  was  narrow  and  their  windows  on  a  level 
with  ours  and  at  those  windows,  a  mother  and  three  daughters  spent 
all  their  time  looking  into  our  room,  one  among  them  often  through 
an  opera  glass.  I  was  indignant  and  angry  but  got  no  sympathy 
from  you.  You  were  not  in  Rome  to  notice  trifles  and  if  I  did  not 
look  across  the  street  I  would  not  know  we  were  being  watched. 

From  Mrs.  B.  I  got,  at  least  sympathy.  She  said  the  people 
opposite  belonged  to  the  poor  nobility;  that  they  owned  the  palace  in 
which  they  lived  and  rented  all  the  lower  pianos,  that  they  kept  a 
carriage  and  went  out  in  style  every  pleasant  day,  adding,  "I  'aye 
'card  that  the  poor  nobility  of  Rome  will  'ave  a  carriage,  heven  if  they 
dooent  'ave  henough  to  heat." 

We  had  been  kept  in  all  day  by  rain  but  about  four  o'clock  the 
sky  cleared  and  we  went  for  a  walk.  As  we  reached  the  street,  there 
sure  enough,  as  Mrs.  B.  had  said,  a  small,  stylish  carriage  with  coach- 
man and  footman  in  livery  stood  at  the  door  opposite,  and  our  neigh- 
bors were  starting  for  their  drive.  After  that  we  often  noticed  them 
on  the  Pincian  Hill  or  crowded  Corso  at  the  fashionable  hour.  On 
Sundays  a  thin,  pale,  meek  looking  man  would  be  of  the  party  and 
one  of  the  girls  absent;  and  so  ended  my  acquaintance  with  the  poor 
nobility  of  Rome. 

Nothing  in  the  narrow  streets  of  Rome  interested  us  more  than 
meeting  a  Cardinal  in  his  splendid  carriage  with  gorgeous  coachman 
and  footman  and  three  laqueys  in  scarlet  livery  standing  behind;  or 
seeing  the  miraculous  Bambino  driven  rapidly  and  in  great  state  to 
a  house  where  some  one  was  very  ill. 

On  most  pleasant  afternoons  we  finished  our  sight  seeing  on  the 
Pincian  Hill;  then  no  matter  how  tired  we  were  we  followed  the 
universal  custom  of  taking  "a  turn  on  the  Corso"  before  going  home. 
The  narrow  roadway  would  be  blocked  with  carriages,  and  the  narrow 
sidewalks  jammed  with  people.  The  elite  of  Rome  were  there;  and 
we — two  wayfarers  from  a  distant  land  enjoying  the  brilliant, 
crowded  hour. 

The  newspapers  had  announced  the  arrival  from  Turin  of  Prince 
Humbert  and  the  Princess,  and  the  afternoon  before  we  left  for 
Naples  we  were  taking  a  farewell  stroll  on  the  Corso,  when  we 

Page  Seventy-nine 


iniuHiniiMiiMiiiiiiiimiiinnimiinitiiiiiMiiiiuiiiiitniiiiiiritiiiiiimnmimmmiamimmmiHiniiiniiiiiiiminiHiinniiiiuMiininiiiintmiiiimiimtiiiiiiiimnni^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

MniiiHiiHuiimuiiwMiiimiHiiniiMiniitiMiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiriiHiiiiiinmiMniiiHuinniinmmiMtiiiiuiiiimttuiimiiitiiuiiiiiiniiinnuiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiH^  iiniuiuHim 

noticed  unusual  excitement,  and  heard  much  cheering.  Soon  the  hat 
of  every  man  near  us  was  taken  off,  and  in  an  approaching  carriage 
we  saw  Prince  Hiunbert,  and  the  Princess  Margherita,  the  Pearl  of 
Savoy,  a  lovely,  charming  woman. 

January  24,  1871,  we  went  to  Naples — to  the  Pension  Anglo- 
Americaine  on  the  Villa  Reale,  a  long  narrow  park  on  the  sea  shore, 
and  a  favorite  promenade. 

In  Naples  we  seemed  almost  to  have  found  another  World!  The 
sky  was  blue  and  unclouded  and  the  air  soft  and  warm.  The  Judas 
trees  were  masses  of  purple  bloom,  almond  trees  in  blossom,  flowers 
in  the  gardens,  and  yellow  fruit  hung  on  the  thrifty  orange  and  lemon 
trees.  On  the  streets  we  were  offered  large  bunches  of  camelias,  pink, 
red  or  white  for  half  a  franc. 

The  shop  windows  were  captivating.  Beads  and  ornaments  of 
lovely  pink  coral,  amber  and  tortoise  shell  in  artistic  articles,  and 
gloves  so  cheap  that  I  would  have  gone  into  the  first  shop  and  spent 
all  my  allowance  but  for  your  restraining  voice.  But  the  beggars 
and  street  venders,  what  a  nuisance  they  were!  Often  to  free  our- 
selves from  them  we  would  get  into  one  of  the  small,  cheap,  rickety 
cabs  that  were  always  hovering  about,  drawn  by  ponies  that  had  no  bit 
in  their  mouths;  only  a  metal  ring  on  the  nose  to  which  the  reins 
were  attached.  The  shabby  driver  would  ask  "Dove?"  where?  and 
you  would  answer,  "Avunque"  anywhere.  Then  I  would  compliment 
you  on  your  mastery  of  Italian  and  we  would  laugh.  Ah  me!  Dear 
Heart  of  mine,  how  easily  and  merrily  we  laughed  in  those  happy, 
happy  days! 

A  loud  cracking  of  the  driver's  whip  and  we  were  off.  Every- 
thing new  and  strange  and  interesting.  Tall  houses  clinging  to  the 
sides  of  hills  and  reached  by  steep  flights  of  stairs;  on  narrow 
streets  block  after  block  of  houses  six  and  seven  stories  high,  with 
rows  of  balconies  over  which  housewives  were  leaning  and  buying 
their  supplies  from  street  venders  below. 

And  what  a  din!  prices  bawled  out  and  bargaining,  then 
dangling  from  a  long  rope  down  went  baskets  and  tin  pails  ^sdth  the 
money  agreed  upon  and  often  when  the  basket  or  pail  came  back, 
angry  words  and  long,  loud  altercation, — and  clothing  fresh  from  the 
tub  was  pulled  by  womens'  vigorous  arms  across  the  street,  to  dry  on 
lines  stretched  between  the  windows  or  balconies. 

In  our  rambles  we  often  came  upon  a  public  letter  writer  at 
work.  Seated  in  a  shady  nook  or  under  an  umbrella  in  a  sunny  square 
a  man  wearing  a  very  high  hat  and  many  quills  stuck  above  each  ear 

Page  Eighty 


imniiiittiininiiiniUiiniiMniniiiitiniiiiniiiintNtiiirirtiinritiiiiniNiuiimniuiimiitiiiinniMniniiuHniiiMniniiiniiiMtiiiiiiinniiiiitfiiiiMiinininiuiuniiHiniHinniiiniii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

wiinnniiiriiiniiiiHiiuiiiiiiMuniMiriinniniiniHiMnMriiiriiniMiiniMiinniinMMiiiiiiiiintiiniiJiinnMiiiiinniiiiiiiiiiniiHHiMiniiiiiiuriiMiiiiiiiiinuniuiuniiiuniiim 

and  beside  him,  dictating,  a  man,  woman  or  pretty  young  girl, — and 
we  saw  small  portable  kitchens  dragged  along  the  streets  selling  soup, 
fried  fish  and  vegetables  in  portions  as  small  as  the  fraction  of  one 
cent, — and  the  afternoon  milking  of  the  herds  of  goats,  driven  from 
house  to  house  and  through  street  after  street.  From  the  lower 
floors,  someone  would  come  with  bowl  or  pitcher, — from  the  upper 
floors  the  people  whose  rooms  fronted  the  street  would  let  down  a 
bottle  tied  to  a  string,  and  when  all  had  been  served,  the  goatherd 
would  whistle,  and  he  and  one  or  two  of  the  goats  would  disappear 
within  a  house  and  climb  the  long  flights  of  stairs,  to  serve  the  people 
with  milk  who  lived  in  the  rear. 

But  the  Santa  Lucia  quarter,  that  was  the  place  above  all  others 
to  see  Neapolitan  life!  In  the  fishing  boats  drawn  up  on  the  shore 
men  and  women  were  mending  nets,  children  and  dogs  rolled  and 
tumbled  in  the  roadway,  lazzaroni  slept  undisturbed  in  the  sun,  and  all 
the  streets  leading  from  the  mole  were  alive  with  people.  Every  bit 
of  domestic  work  seemed  to  be  done  out  of  doors, — washing,  cooking, 
eating  and  mending  all  going  on  with  talk  and  laughter,  quarreling 
and  gesticulation.  Girls  were  dressing  one  anothers  hair,  young  men 
standing  by,  and  all  engaged  in  lively  talk, — mothers  were  combing 
the  heads  of  their  oflPspring  for  purposes  that  caused  us  to  give  them 
a  wide  berth.    It  was  all  well  worth  seeing,  for  once  at  least. 

If  we  were  on  the  streets  early  in  the  morning  we  would  see 
diminutive  donkeys  carrying  to  the  City  markets,  panniers  loaded 
with  flowers,  fruit  and  vegetables,  and  walking  beside  them,  a  dark- 
eyed,  sun-burned  girl.  In  the  afternoons  the  girls  rode  the  little 
donkeys  home,  in  groups  that  were  very  pretty  to  look  upon. 

We  went  to  the  Convent  of  San  Martino  at  an  elevation  of  500 
feet.  We  started  in  one  of  the  rattling  little  cabs  that  always  made 
us  wonder  how  they  held  together  and  when  about  half  way  up,  the 
half  starved  little  horse  gave  out.  The  driver  declared  his  "cavallo" 
was  "pigro"  which  we  took  to  mean  lazy,  and  rather  than  see  the  poor 
beast  lashed  with  the  whip,  and  hear  the  driver's  loud,  angry  abuse, 
you  paid  the  sum  agreed  upon,  and  we  walked  the  rest  of  the  way. 
Up  and  up  through  thickly  populated,  narrow,  dirty  streets,  one  set 
of  steps  above  another  until  the  Convent  was  reached,— then  down 
a  long  gallery  at  the  end  of  which  a  room  opening  on  a  balcony.  It 
was  managed  in  rather  a  spectacular  way.  A  dimly-lighted  room, — 
a  door  opened  by  a  pale,  dark-eyed  monk  and  that  wonderful  view 
flashed  upon  the  eye. 

We  had  read  many  descriptions  of  that  view,  but  no  words  could 

Page  Eighty-one 


«MnMiimmumuiwiimRiutH«umintmmm<uiiiminimnnflwiimimmm«immtttmiiniiimimimmmiimiiiiinHiniHUHiNinimiiimHiH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

WHMItHIHtHtUHHIWtmuHWHUIMWHmUHninUIHIMHUHUmtWtwmitluniMHNMMtMIUnilHUnHliniMlliniUIHIIHIimillllHIUIIHUnilHIIIIIWIItiriHimUl^ 

describe  its  exquisite  beauty!  The  matchless  Bay  of  Naples!  The 
blue  sea  sparkling  and  dancing  in  the  sunlight,  its  bosom  dotted  with 
hundreds  of  small,  white  sails;  the  lovely  islands,  Mt.  Vesuvius  with 
a  column  of  smoke  rolling  in  little  rings  from  its  summit,  the  city 
spread  out  like  a  map,  and  immediately  beneath,  the  Convent  gardens 
overhanging  the  cliff,  with  olive  trees,  trellises  of  vines  and  flowers 
and  long  shady  avenues  through  which  brown  garbed  monks  with 
sandals  on  their  stockingless  feet  were  walking,  book  in  hand,  and 
over  it  all  the  intense  blue  of  the  sky  of  Italy. 

We  drove  through  the  Grotto  of  Posilippo  and  went  to  Virgil's 
tomb.  Standing  there  you  spoke  of  the  legend  that  St.  Paul  on  his 
way  to  Rome  to  appeal  to  Caesar,  visited  Virgil's  tomb. 

In  the  museum  we  saw  the  wonderful  collection  from  the  ruins 
of  Pompeii  and  Herculaneum.  Anitque  statues  and  busts  in  marble 
and  bronze,  beautiful  jewelry,  silver  plate,  cut  glass,  vases,  lamps 
and  pitchers,  money,  and  medicine  chests,  bankers'  vouchers  on  un- 
rolled papyri,  frescoes  with  pictures  of  everyday  life,  musical  instru- 
ments and  slates  and  pencils  of  the  poor  little  children  whose  school 
days  were  cut  so  short. 

At  Pompeii  we  saw  what  was  left  of  forum,  theaters,  temples  and 
baths — ^homes,  and  signs  and  inscriptions  on  walls. 

One  night  we  went  to  the  San  Carlos  Theater,  a  large,  old- 
fashioned  looking  house  with  six  rows  of  boxes.  We  heard  "The 
Jewess"  well  sung  and  after  it  saw  the  superb  ballet  of  Esmerelda. 

Going  away  we  saw  the  "trovatore" — men  and  boys  with  lan- 
terns, a  weird  looking  lot,  picking  up  cigar  and  cigarette  stumps  and 
any  article  they  could  use.  We  always  enjoyed  the  streets  at  night 
and  the  strolling  musicians  with  mandolins  and  guitars  singing 
Neapolitan  songs  or  airs  from  Operas. 

We  often  took  the  most  respectable  looking  cab  we  could  find 
and  joined  the  carriage  folk  in  their  afternoon  drive  through  their 
lovely  park — the  Chiaia — following  the  sea  shore  for  miles,  with 
pretty  villas  on  one  side,  and  the  sparkling  blue  water  on  the  other; 
and  on  Saturday  afternoons  we  loitered  many  an  hour  on  the  Toledo, 
a  narrow  street  with  quite  a  grade,  only  a  mile  in  length  and 
the  main  artery  of  traffic,  on  which,  for  the  most  peculiar  of 
whims,  the  wealthy  Neapolitans  made  it  a  practise — long  since  dis- 
continued— of  a  carriage  promenade  for  about  two  hours  every 
Saturday  afternoon.  It  was  very  animated  and  very  interesting.  The 
jam  of  carriages  going  over  the  short  course,  back  and  forth,  again 
and  again,  ladies  meeting  and  remeeting,  and  exchanging  lively  talk. 

Page  Eighty-two 


wmHmHiiitiiimHiHtmimintiiiiMiMiHMmiiimiiitiiiHMiiiiMimiimiinmmHimiiinimiinmmtimmnmiiiinmmtmmiitimimiimmiitmnNmmmnnnHimmnmmM 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

itHHHmiHIItlltllUlimitHIIIIIIMIIIinilUIIIMiniMltlHIIHIIWMIIIIHtnilllllHIIIHIIHtmHmiHIIIIHIHMHIIIIIHIIIIimHHmHHHHnHIIUIHIHmillimimmilllNWIIHHIIHIHIIUIIII^ 

In  the  churches  of  Naples  nearly  all  the  statues  of  the  Virgins 
were  showily  dressed,  quite  like  fashionable  ladies,  in  bright  colored 
silks  with  bows  of  ribbon,  hair  elaborately  done  and  often  wearing 
costly  ornaments, — a  beautiful  necklace  and  bracelets,  and  frequently 
the  infant  they  held  would  be  clothed  in  an  unusual  way. 

It  was  in  Naples  that  we  first  fell  in  with  the  superstition  of 
"jettaturo,"  the  evil  eye  that  brought  bad  luck  to  whoever  encountered 
it,  and  the  beggars  would  hold  out  one  hand  for  alms,  and  with  the 
other  behind  them,  secretly  make  the  sign  that  would  avert  the  conse- 
quences of  the  evil  eye  that  all  foreigners  were  supposed  to  possess. 
The  wretched,  superstitious  beggars!  the  men,  women  and  children; 
the  street  gamins  barefooted,  barelegged,  the  upper  parts  of  their 
bodies  clothed  in  rags  tied  and  held  in  place  by  strings;  all  declaring 
they  were  dying  of  hunger  "morte  di  fame,  morte  di  fame"  but  we 
had  heard  that  cry  so  often  in  Naples  that  it  fell  on  calloused  ears. 

On  our  last  afternoon  we  went  to  the  Castle  of  St.  Elmo  1500 
feet  above  the  sea  for  the  view.  We  engaged  a  cab  to  go  and  return. 
The  driver  was  a  handsome  young  fellow  with  a  soft  voice  and  a 
charming  smile  and  he  was  so  kind  to  his  horse,  walking  up  the  steep- 
est places  that  he  quite  won  our  hearts.  We  stopped  at  the  Palace 
of  Capodimonte  to  see  the  pictures  and  the  beautiful  specimens  of 
Capodimente  porcelain  from  the  Royal  factory,  then  continued  on 
and  up  to  St.  Elmo. 

As  we  left  the  cab  the  driver  said  neither  he  nor  his  horse  had 
had  anything  to  eat  since  early  morning  and  if  the  Signore  would  pay 
the  fare  up  he  would  be  grateful — ^he  was  sorry  to  ask  but  he  had  no 
money.  Of  course  the  Signore  paid  the  fare  and  gave  the  delightful 
youth  a  fee.  At  parting  he  told  us  not  to  hurry — that  we  would  find 
him  waiting  for  us  in  front  of  the  Castle. 

From  the  battlements  the  view  was  glorious,  sublime!  We 
might  never  see  it  again.  We  had  a  cab,  and  I  begged  to  wait  until 
the  sun  went  down,  and  what  a  sunset  it  was!  sea  and  sky  and  all  the 
land  bathed  in  softest  and  most  exquisite  shades  of  violet  and  amethyst. 
When  Vesuvius  and  all  the  high  peaks  began  to  purple  and  turn  dark 
we  knew  it  was  time  to  go. 

We  went  but  alas!  we  found  no  waiting  cab.  Our  Adonis  with 
the  soft  voice  and  the  lambent  eyes  had  left  us  in  the  lurch.  Feeling 
disappointed  and  very  much  aggrieved  we  began  the  long,  weary 
homeward  tramp.  Flights  of  steep  stairs  and  lanes  between  high 
walls,  down  and  down  we  went.  When  we  reached  the  street  level 
and  stepped  out  from  a  narrow  lane  hoping  to  see  a  cab,  we  saw 

Page  Eighty-thre'e 


iMhiniiiminiiiiiiimniiiniiiiHiiimiiiHiiniiHiininiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiNminmiimtnniiHnimniMiiiiiiiniiiMitiiiininiiiiitiiiiiiniimmHnmiinniHiiniiiiiiinHiniii^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

wiiimiiiiminiMiiiiiiMiitiiiiuniiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiHininininiiiiiiiiinHiiiiiiiniiiiiitnMiiiMimiininiuiiniiiHHniMiiHririiniiininiMiniinniiiiHMniHiiniinniiiiinuui^ 

three,  all  dashing  furiously  toward  us.  Those  fiendish  men!  if  we 
tried  to  get  into  a  cab  the  other  two  drove  their  horses  upon  us  and 
forced  us  back.  We  tried  to  walk,  but  they  circled  round  us  and 
prevented  that.  The  demons  held  us  up  for  fully  half  an  hour  in 
that  lonely  street. 

Daylight  was  fast  disappearing  and  seeing  that  you  were  be- 
coming angry  and  excited,  I  suggested  that  you  pay  each  of  the 
rascals  the  fare  to  our  house,  and  so  get  away  from  them;  but  you 
fairly  shouted  to  me,  "No  never — not  if  I  stay  here  all  night" 

Just  then  two  workmen  came  along.  You  called  to  them  and 
pointed  to  the  cabmen.  They  took  in  the  situation  at  once.  They 
argued  with  the  cabmen,  frequently  using  the  words  governo  civile, 
and  after  a  considerable  parley  succeeded  in  bringing  them  to  terms. 
Our  friends  selected  the  cab  we  were  to  use,  took  with  thanks  the 
money  you  gave  them,  and  with  bows,  and  all  the  gratitude  we  knew 
how  to  express  we  drove  away.  The  two  other  cabs  followed,  often 
halting  our  progress  by  driving  across  the  street  directly  in  front  of 
us,  and  the  three  cabmen  keeping  up  a  constant  interchange  of 
abusive  talk,  and  hissing  at  each  other. 

We  went  from  Naples  to  the  Island  of  Capri ;  then  in  a  rowboat 
we  slipped  under  the  low  entrance  into  the  beautiful  Blue  Grotto. 
The  dim  light  enhanced  the  effect  of  the  immense  room  where  floor 
and  walls  and  lofty,  arched  ceiling  were  all  of  the  most  intense  blue. 
Boys  dived  for  coins  thrown  into  the  water,  their  naked  little  bodies 
taking  on  a  sheen  like  silver. 

From  the  Grotto  back  to  the  steamer,  then  on,  to  Sorrento  and 
the  Hotel  Tramontana  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  large  grove  of 
orange  and  lemon  trees.  The  fruit  looked  beautiful  but  the  oranges 
were  very  sour. 

We  looked  at  the  pretty  inlaid  woodwork  in  the  shops  then 
walked  along  the  cliffs  overhanging  the  sea.  It  seemed  like  tempting 
Fate  to  live  in  some  of  the  pretty  villas  resting  as  they  did  on  the 
very  verge  of  precipitous  cliffs — such  a  one  was  the  house  in  which 
Tasso  was  born — but  how  charming  it  all  was!  Every  villa  had  its 
lovely  view,  its  little  grove  of  orange  trees,  its  blooming  garden,  and 
zig-zag  path  to  a  boathouse  and  bathing  place  below.  Towards  the 
close  of  day  we  walked  to  the  harbor  where  the  fishing  boats  were 
coming  in  and  saw  the  red-capped,  red-sashed  fishermen  putting  their 
catch  in  flat  willow  baskets  which  they  carried  away  on  their  heads. 

The  next  day  in  a  comfortable  carriage  drawn  by  three  horses 
abreast,  decked  with  plumes,  colored  trappings  and  jingling  bells,  we 

Page  Eighty-four 


WHiiiiuiiniiiiriiirniiHniiiiiiniiinitiiniiiiiuiiimiiiinniiiiiiiiiimiiiiniiHitiimnninimminiiiiiiininiiiiiiniiimnnimiiiiniiniiiiinmiiiiiiiiiiiiu 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

wiMiinMiiiiniiiiMiimiiiiiinnMMiiuniiMniniiiiiiiiMinuMiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiciiiiMiiuimimtiiiiuiiiininiitiiiiiniiniiiiiiuiiiininniniiiiiiiiiiinininiiiiiiinniiinii^ 

made  the  delightful  drive  from  Sorrento  to  Castellamare.  We  soon 
learned  why  three  horses  were  necessary.  It  was  a  high-lying,  beauti- 
ful country  but  furrowed  by  ravines  that  must  be  crossed.  From  the 
table  land  above,  our  reckless  driver  would  let  his  horses  run  like  wild, 
down  almost  to  the  level  of  the  sea,  where  we  would  cross  a  bridge 
and  then  with  shouts  and  cracking  of  the  whip  up  we  would  go  to  the 
other  side.  Our  road  ran  sometimes  along  cliffs  overhanging  the 
sea,  sometimes  through  vineyards  or  orchards  of  olive,  orange  and  fig, 
but  we  were  never  out  of  sight  of  the  glorious  views.  We  passed  gay 
villas  with  flower-covered  pergolas  and  groups  of  umbrella  pines,  and 
at  the  entrance  to  Castellamare  we  drove  through  a  lovely  ravine; 
perpendicular  walls  of  reddish  rock  overhung  by  long  tresses  of 
flowering  vines,  and  singing  beside  our  road  a  tiny  stream.  What  a 
joyous,  happy  ride  it  was! 

From  Castellamare  to  Naples  by  train,  and  to  the  Hotel 
Washington.  Sitting  after  dinner  in  the  hotel  lobby  you  suggested  a 
walk.  I  was  tired  and  hesitated.  In  that  moment  of  indecision  six 
young  people  appeared  dressed  in  picturesque  costume, — three  young 
men  and  three  young  women.  Two  were  the  musicians;  the  instru- 
ments a  mandolin  and  guitar  and  soon  the  entertainment  began.  To 
the  soft  music,  two  couples  danced  the  tarantella  gracefully  and 
beautifully.  After  the  tarantella  two  girls  danced  alone  and  as  they 
passed  around  the  room  each  threw  a  handkerchief  upon  the  lap  of 
a  gentleman,  expecting  when  they  returned  to  pick  it  up  they  would 
find  a  piece  of  money  tied,  in  at  least  one  corner.  They  did  not  stop 
dancing  until  they  had  exacted  tribute  from  every  gentleman  present, 
and  as  they  were  both  very  pretty  they  probably  untied  from  the 
corners  of  their  handkerchiefs  quite  a  sum  of  money.  The  next  per- 
formance was  very  amusing.  While  the  girls  were  dancing,  one  of 
the  young  men  had  dressed  himself  in  the  most  grotesque  manner,  and 
from  the  place  (where  according  to  the  Darwinian  theory  was  once 
a  caudle  appendage)  there  hung  a  tail  about  a  yard  long  made  of 
vari-colored  tissue  paper,  braided  with  points  standing  out  and  at  the 
end  the  strips  of  paper  hung  loose,  forming  a  tassel.  The  other 
three  members  of  the  dancing  troupe  held  lighted  candles,  and  the 
play  was,  to  set  fire  to  the  tail.  Soon  as  the  music  began  the  fun 
began,  and  such  contortions,  such  jumping  and  bounding  and  whirl- 
ing around!  That  tail  acted  like  a  thing  alive  as  it  responded  to  every 
motion  of  the  man  who  wore  it.  For  half  an  hour  an  audience  con- 
vulsed with  laughter  watched  that  ludicrous  performance,  and  then 
the  man  with  his  tail  not  even  scorched,  bounded  away. 

We  drove  to  Baiai,  once  a  fashionable  watering  place  for  the 

Page  Eighty-five 


■mmmmiMtiiiiiiMimnMimiittniiimimiiniiiiNiiiiHitiiniiHitimHiwiHHmNmmmmiiirmiiniimNnimiimiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiniHHimiumimuiiniiniminm 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

«HniuwiiHiiiiiiHiniiiiuiiHiiniin(iHnHinHMiniitninMiiiHinniimiiiiuniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniHHniMiinHMHHiiiuiiiiiiiiHiniiMtiiiiitiiiiHiiiMiiuiHiiiiiiiniiniHiiiiiniiiiHiiiiuinH 

Roman  aristocracy.  On  all  sides  ruins  of  theaters,  villas  and  baths; 
now  only  a  country  overrun  by  beggars,  their  scant  clothing  tied  to 
their  bodies.  They  stood  on  the  carriage  step  and  clutched  the  harness 
of  the  horse.  To  escape  them  we  took  refuge  at  an  Inn  where  we 
lunched  "al  fresco"  on  bread  and  cheese  and  oysters,  with  a  bottle  of 
Lachryma  Cristi  wine  made  from  grapes  grown  on  the  slope  of  Mt. 
Vesuvius.  We  should  have  been  perfectly  happy  if  two  elderly 
women  had  not  insisted  on  dancing  the  tarantella  for  us  while  we  ate. 

We  went  from  Naples  to  Rome  on  the  "accelerata."  Distance 
155  miles;  time  nine  hours.  We  found  many  letters  awaiting  us  at 
Cooks  but  no  word  from  Cardinal  Antonelli. 

One  pleasant  day  we  made  the  ascent  of  the  dome  of  St.  Peters. 
As  we  stood  in  front  of  the  great  structure  measuring  with  our  eyes 
the  distance  we  had  to  climb,  you  asked  if  I  expected  to  go  into  the 
ball,  over  the  dome. 

"Do  you  mean,"  I  asked,  "that  little  ball  that  looks  like  a  small 
orange?"  to  which  you  replied, 

"If  you  had  read  your  guide  book  carefully  you  would  know 
that  little  ball  is  eight  feet  in  diameter,  and  will  hold  over  a  dozen 
people." 

"Then  if  ever  I  reach  it,  I  shall  go  inside  it,"  said  I. 

We  commenced  the  ascent  on  a  broad  staircase  with  low  steps, 
up  which  mules  were  carrying  loads.  Soon,  the  way  narrowed  and 
became  winding  and  steep, — after  a  time  we  reached  a  gallery  within 
the  dome.  We  were  now  near  the  mosaic  pictures  that  lined  the 
dome,  and  looked  so  lovely  from  below.  Close  by,  the  work  was 
coarse,  the  figures  colossal  and  unattractive.  Up  we  climbed  by  an 
outside  gallery  until  we  came  to  the  gilded  ball,  430  feet  from  the 
ground,  attached  to  the  dome  by  a  slender  stem,  within  which  was 
a  steep  iron  ladder. 

The  view  of  the  surrounding  country  was  beautiful  and  ex- 
tended, and  from  a  small  inner  gallery  we  looked  down  upon  the 
floor  of  the  church,  where  the  people  moving  about  had  the  appear- 
ance of  tiny  insects.  We  went  up  the  ladder  and  within  the  ball. 
The  place  was  oppressively  hot  and  our  curiosity  soon  satisfied.  We 
were  about  to  leave  when  a  head  appeared  above  the  ladder  and  the 
opening  leading  to  the  ball  was  obstructed  by  the  shoulders  of  a  large 
man.  We  waited  for  the  way  to  be  clear,  but  the  man  neither  ad- 
vanced nor  retreated,  and  we  soon  realized  that  he  was  actually  so 
wedged  in  that  he  could  do  neither.  It  would  have  been  laughable 
but  for  his  distress.     His  face  became  purple  in  his  efforts  to  free 

Page  Eighty -six 


wmiiiiimiiMHiiHnMiiiiHiHiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiNniimHiMiiiiHiHiininiiinimnnMHnwmiimminiMiiHimimmiHninimmmmiinimiHHitiimHmwninii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiHWHiinutiiuuwiiininiiiiHiiiiiiMniiitiiiiMiiMiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiMHiiniiMiWHiHiiMHiiiiiiiiiimiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiMiininiiiiuuiiuiuMiiiiniiinim 

himself.  He  was  probably  not  there  more  than  two  or  three  minutes 
but  it  seemed  an  hour  before  we  saw  that  red  face  disappear  down  the 
ladder  and  we  had  a  chance  to  escape. 

We  were  much  interested  in  the  colony  of  guards  and  workmen 
who  lived  on  the  roof  permanently.  Each  had  his  snug  little  home, 
and  the  positions  descended  from  father  to  son,  generation  after 
generation.  The  high  parapet  quite  shut  them  out  from  the  World. 
Men  were  at  work  at  a  forge  and  others  in  a  carpenter  shop,  and 
from  a  large  basin  a  pretty  fountain  was  playing. 

When  we  reached  the  ground  we  went  inside  the  Church.  We 
were  looking  at  the  splendid  monuments  of  the  Popes,  when  a  Card- 
inal appeared  followed  by  priests  and  choiristers.  At  the  High  Altar 
they  knelt  for  a  moment,  then  went  on  to  a  chapel,  we  and  all  others 
in  the  vicinity  following.  It  was  the  Vesper  service.  The  soft  tones 
of  the  organ,  the  beautiful  voices,  the  delicious  smell  of  incense  and 
the  charming  intermingling  of  color,  was  soothing  and  restful  after 
our  fatiguing  work. 

We  went  to  the  Villa  Pamphili-Doria  on  the  Janiculum  hill  and 
so  completed  the  Seven  Hills  of  Rome.  The  Villa  grounds  were  like 
fairyland.  Statuary  and  temples,  cascades  and  fountains,  groves  and 
avenues  of  splendid  trees,  wild  flowers  in  the  fields,  birds  singing  and 
lovely  views  in  all  directions;  near  the  Villa  was  the  Aqua  Paola 
fountain,  a  stream  of  water  flowing  between  granite  colimins  with 
the  rush  and  roar  of  swift  rivers,  and  below  the  fountain  the  church 
and  terrace  from  where  we  had  the  most  famous  of  all  views  of  Rome. 

The  ten  day  Carnival  had  commenced  with  drizzUng  rain;  after 
that,  revelry  reigned  in  the  Corso  every  afternoon  and  the  glimpse  of 
a  mask  or  decorated  carriage  filled  me  with  excitement  and  curiosity. 
Once  venturing  too  near  the  battle  line  confetti  was  thrown  at  us  and 
some  found  its  way  to  one  of  your  eyes.  Smarting  with  pain  from 
what  you  called  "horse  play"  you  said  in  a  tone  that  made  it  an 
ultimatum,  "I  do  not  propose  to  spend  much  time  or  much  money  on 
the  Carnival,  but  if  you  will  promise  not  to  drag  me  to  the  Corso 
every  afternoon,  you  may  have  your  choice  of  a  balcony  for  two 
afternoons,  or  a  carriage  for  the  afternoon  and  evening  of  Shrove 
Tuesday  when  the  Carnival  ends  with  the  putting  out  of  lighted 
tapers."  I  chose  the  carriage  but  accused  you  of  driving  a  hard 
bargain. 

One  week  after  our  return  to  Rome,  upon  going  to  Cooks  for 
our  mail,  we  found  a  large  envelope  and  within  it  a  small  card  from 
Cardinal  Antonelli  appointing  February  1,  10:30  A.  M.,  for  an 

Page  Eighty-Miren 


iminimHMHuiiiniirnimiiiiiiiHiiiiiiintiiuiiiiiiiiMiiiniiiiNiiiiiiiiiniiraiHitnffliiinHHmniiHHiiiiiniminnniminmiHtnmHnniiumiHimiiim^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

ittiiiniiiiniiiHiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiitiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiniiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiHm 

audience  with  the  Pope,  and  a  large  card  being  a  "permisso"  to  a 
Mass  in  the  Sistine  Chapel,  two  days  later  at  the  same  hour  of  the 
morning. 

The  card  admitting  us  to  the  Sistine  Chapel  was  a  work  of  art, 
with  crests  and  seals  and  Latin  wording.  Holding  it  in  my  hand  and 
looking  at  it  admiringly,  I  said, 

"Oh,  how  I  should  like  to  keep  this  card  as  a  souvenir." 

You  replied,  there  would  be  no  trouble  about  my  keeping  it,  if 

I  really  wanted  to,  and  when  I  eagerly  asked,  "how?"  you  said,  "by 

staying  away  and  not  presenting  it." 

Then  I  accused  you  of  lack  of  enthusiasm  and  you  admitted  that 
you  did  not  like,  what  you  called  "the  fol-de-rol  nonsense  of  the 
dress  coat."    However,  you  fell  gracefully  into  it  on  both  occasions. 

Several  moments  before  the  time  appointed  we  reached  the 
Vatican,  and  presenting  Cardinal  Antonelli's  card,  were  conducted  by 
one  of  the  Swiss  Guard  through  a  succession  of  large  splendid  rooms. 
When  we  reached  a  smaller  room,  where  two  ladies  were  already 
waiting,  our  conductor  left  us. 

A  few  moments  later  a  door  was  thrown  open  disclosing  several 
members  of  the  Swiss  Guard,  who  presented  arms,  and  the  Pope 
appeared,  followed  by  two  ecclesiastics.  We  were  nearest  the  door 
and  the  Pope  came  directly  toward  us.  Dressed  in  white,  with 
snowy  hair  falling  from  under  his  cap,  and  wearing  a  long  string  of 
large  white  beads.  The  only  color  about  him,  his  dark  luminous 
eyes,  a  superb  cross  of  amethyst  suspended  from  his  necklace  of 
beads,  the  Papal  ring  upon  his  finger,  and  the  red  shoes  upon  his 
feet.  A  saintly  looking  man,  with  a  charming  smile,  and  a  clear, 
musical  voice.  He  spoke  in  French,  asked  us  from  where  we  came, 
and  when  told,  said, 

"Ah,  yes  I  remember.  San  Fran-cis-co,  San  Fran-cis-co"  dwell- 
ing upon  each  syllabel,  "a  long,  long  way  from  Rome.  What  a 
journey  you  have  made." 

He  then  asked  how  long  we  had  been  in  Rome,  and  smiled  when 
we  told  him  of  our  long  visit  and  the  pleasure  Rome  had  given  us, — 
said, 

"Then  you  will  surely  come  again.  I  wish  you  a  safe  journey 
back  to  San  Fran-cis-co." 

I  held  a  number  of  rosaries  in  my  hand  which  he  touched  lightly 
and  then  raising  his  hand  to  give  us  his  blessing,  it  seemed  the  most 
natural  thing  to  do,  and  I  knelt  to  receive  mine.     The  Pope  then 

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imimiimiiiuMiiiimiiiimtimnmninmmmimmMiiiiHinnNiininiiiiiinnnmmiimitHiimmininimiiiwimmminmttmninH^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

imHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiit "■niiintiiiiinitimminiiiiiMimiuiHiiMiiuiMHiHrHHiiHmimiHiuiniiiimiimimniininMmmiiiiiiniiwwiwimuiiiuiimiiiwnMMi 

passed  on  to  the  two  ladies,  and  we,  through  the  door  by  which  the 
Pope  had  entered,  between  a  double  line  of  the  Swiss  Guard,  and  a 
long  corridor  to  the  exit. 

Two  days  later  we  went  to  the  Sistine  Chapel  where  the  Pope 
officiated  at  Mass.  It  was  a  beautiful  and  impressive  spectacle! 
Nobles  in  ruffs  and  cloaks  of  velvet,  wearing  gold  chains  of  enor- 
mous size,  Cardinals  brilliant  with  color.  Bishops  in  magnificent 
stoles  embroidered  with  pearls  and  thread  of  gold.  Priests  in  purple. 
Canons,  Acolytes  and  others  in  large  numbers,  and  always  a  back- 
ground of  the  Swiss  Guard  in  their  white  plumed  helmets  and  striped 
doublets  of  red,  yellow  and  black. 

In  about  the  middle  of  the  long,  splendid  procession  came  the 
Pope,  all  in  white,  upon  his  head  a  mitre  of  gold  and  precious  stones, 
walking  under  a  white  silk  canopy  carried  by  six  dignitaries,  whose 
capes  hanging  from  the  shoulders  towards  the  audience,  gleamed  and 
glittered  in  the  soft  light  of  the  Chapel.  As  the  Mass  progressed,  it 
was  a  veritable  feast  for  the  senses.  The  intermingling  of  lovely 
harmonious  colors,  the  numberless  twinkling  tapers,  the  delicious 
incense  from  swinging  censers,  the  glorious  music,  gloriously  sung 
by  the  Pope's  choir,  and  now  and  then  the  Pope's  own  voice  in 
clear,  resonant  tones. 

We  wrote  our  thanks  to  Cardinal  Antonelli  in  English  and 
hoped  the  translation  would  convey  to  him  some  idea  of  the  pleasure 
his  kindness  had  given  us. 

At  last  Shrove  Tuesday  came,  and  in  the  afternoon  when  we  left 
the  Hotel  de  I'Universe,  our  carriage  well  filled  with  small  bunches  of 
flowers  and  bags  of  confetti,  I  was  bubbling  over  with  excitement. 
As  we  neared  the  Corso  we  put  on  our  wire  masks  and  slowly  made 
our  way  along  the  crowded  street,  and  what  a  striking  sight  it  was! 
From  every  balcony  hung  draperies  of  brilliant  color.  Flags  and 
streamers  fluttered  from  windows  and  housetops,  and  on  every 
balcony  and  at  every  open  window  were  ladies  and  girls  in  every 
kind  of  quaint  and  picturesque  dress.  The  street  was  packed,  the 
roadway  with  carriages,  the  sidewalks  with  maskers  on  foot.  The 
costumes  were  beautiful,  grotesque  or  ludicrous.  Many  of  the  car- 
riages were  attractively  decorated,  the  horses  with  showy  trappings, 
brightened  by  knots  of  ribbon.  Some  of  the  coachmen  were  very 
amusing  wearing  long  ringlets  and  flower-trimmed  bonnets,  others 
with  elaborate  coifl'ures  without  either  hat  or  bonnet. 

Back  and  forth  the  length  of  the  Corso  went  the  fantastic  crowd, 
while  flying  through  the  air  were  flowers,  bon-bons  and  confetti. 

Page  Eighty-nine 


iiiinmHnmiiiiiiHiniiMiiiriMtiiniiHiumiiiinitiniiHttHiiinimHmitiNHmitimiHMitiNiHiNHiiiMiniiHHimiHMHmMMmiiHiiiiimmiiminiiNmiiiminHmrai^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

•iHimtiiiiiiHiniiniiiiiiiiMiiMHniiiiiniHMiHMniniinnHiiuniiiiMHimimiiiHHiiiiiimuiiiiiiHiiMiiiiuNiiiiuiunimiiiiuiiHiiiiinuniiiiitiiMiiitiiiHiiHHiiuiinnutiiiuiiuHii 

Everybody  pelting  and  being  pelted,  by  maskers  on  foot,  by  occu- 
pants of  carriages,  and  from  the  windows  and  balconies  above. 

At  sunset  a  canon  boomed,  a  trumpet  sounded,  and  a  mounted 
dragoon  appeared,  ordering  all  carriages  from  the  street;  we  left  the 
carriage  and  stood  on  the  sidewalk  with  the  thousands  and  thousands 
that  lined  the  Corso  on  both  sides.  Next,  a  troop  of  cavalry  rode 
slowly  down  the  street;  returning  they  rode  somewhat  quicker,  and 
the  third  time  at  full  speed  and  following  like  a  rushing  wind  came 
six  wild  horses — ^riderless,  without  bit  or  bridle,  their  manes  shining 
with  ornaments,  and  tied  to  their  backs,  tinkling  bells,  and  little  balls 
with  sharp  points  that  pricked  and  goaded  them  as  they  dashed 
furiously  along,  the  cheers  and  shouts  of  the  multitude  adding  to  their 
fright  and  terror. 

The  race  over,  back  into  the  Corso  streamed  the  carriages,  and  as 
the  daylight  vanished  twinkling  tapers  appeared,  and  the  weirdly  ani- 
mated play  of  "Mocoletti"  began,  increasing  in  intensity  as  the  dark- 
ness fell.  We  had  provided  ourselves  with  tapers  and  standing  up  in 
the  carriage  were  soon  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight.  The  play  consisted 
in  keeping  your  own  taper  alight,  and  putting  out  the  light  of  others. 
On  every  side  were  shouts  of  laughter  and  the  mocking  words  "senza 
mocolo,  senza  mocolo" — without  light — and  when  once  your  light  was 
out,  there  was  a  struggle  to  keep  you  from  relighting  it.  Sometimes 
when  "senza  mocolo"  applied  to  us  both,  we  would  make  no  attempt 
to  relight  our  tapers  preferring  to  watch  for  awhile  the  fun  on  the 
balconies  above,  and  in  the  splendid  palaces  where  the  play  of 
"mocoletti"  was  being  carried  on  with  the  same  enthusiasm  that  pre- 
vailed upon  the  street. 

When  the  frolic  and  strife,  the  laughter  and  cries  of  "senza 
mocolo,  senza  mocolo"  were  at  their  very  height,  the  church  bells  rung 
the  Angelus  and  like  a  flash  all  was  over — every  taper  extinguished 
as  if  by  magic  and  the  Carnival  was  at  an  end. 

We  had  pleasant  visits  with  Story  and  Rogers  in  their  studios; 
at  the  Argentina  Theater  heard  the  "Secret  Marriage"  well  sung,  and 
saw  the  pretty  ballet  of  Ivanhoe ;  saw  the  Coliseum  by  moonlight  and 
again  by  Bengal  lights;  picked  wild  flowers  among  the  ruins,  and 
lilies,  violets  and  anemones  in  the  Borghese  grounds. 

And  now  the  time  had  come  when  we  must  say  farewell  to  Rome. 
To  the  "Eternal  City"  that  we  had  so  much  enjoyed.  The  Rome  of 
beauty  and  ruins  and  interest  without  end.  The  Rome  of  dirty, 
narrow  streets.  The  Rome  of  shocking  indecencies  committed  by 
Roman  citizens  faultlessly  attired,  who  belonged  without  doubt  to  the 

Page  Ninety 


MiWHHHNnMnmiimmmnnHmimmiHmHiinHnnmiHtiimNmtmNHniiHHHmmmHmmmiHHmmiimimimiNtnNttnmiHiw 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

ItlHIUHmUIIIIUIIimllllHMIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIirillllMIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIWNWimwUimmimtWIUIIHHIIWIUUIUnilUIIHHIIIIIUUIHIIUUIUHIU 

classes  of  rank  and  influence,  every  one  of  whom  considered  himself 
a  "gentiluomo"  and  by  the  Romans  was  so  considered.  To  the  Rome 
of  the  pifferari,  the  beggars  and  the  cheap  cabs.  To  the  Rome  that 
had  held  captive  our  imagination  in  the  past,  and  that  in  the  future 
would  always  have  a  warm  place  in  our  hearts.  We  went  to  St. 
Peters  to  look  again  upon  "that  radiant  dome  with  mosaics  of  gold;" 
upon  the  High  Altar  with  the  ever  burning  lamps,  and  the  splendid 
Monuments  of  the  Popes.  We  saw  again  our  favorite  statues  of 
Marcus  Aurelius  and  Augustus,  our  favorite  pictures  and  fountains, 
and  on  the  last  night  we  drank  from  the  fountain  of  Trevi,  and  threw 
small  coins  in  its  basin,  hoping  with  all  our  hearts  that  the  supersti- 
tion would  come  true,  and  we  return  to  drink  again. 

On  the  last  day  of  February  we  went  from  Rome  to  Florence. 
We  talked  of  Pope  Pius  IX  and  Cardinal  Antonelli's  dark,  disquiet- 
ing eyes,  and  did  not  turn  our  faces  to  the  North  until  the  great 
church  of  St.  Peter  had  vanished  from  our  sight,  you  quoting  Haw- 
thorne's words,  "The  grandest  edifice  ever  built  by  man,  painted 
against  God's  loveliest  sky." 

We  had  three  weeks  of  strenuous  sightseeing.  The  weather 
conditions  were  perfect,  and  all  the  lovely  surrounding  country  abloom 
with  flowers  and  blossoming  fruit  trees;  and  we  varied  the  time  de- 
lightfully, between  churches,  art  galleries,  museums,  and  the  hills, — 
where  from  summits  we  looked  down  upon  the  domes,  spires,  towers 
and  red  roofs  of  the  City;  then  wandered  down  their  villa  dotted 
slopes,  under  the  gray  green  foliage  of  olive  trees,  gathering  lilies, 
anemones,  cyclamen  and  all  the  variety  of  brilliant  wild  flowers  that 
grew  in  great  profusion,  and  made  the  Spring  landscape  "Fair  as  a 
garden  of  the  Lord." 

The  main  facade  of  the  Duomo  was  then  only  a  mass  of  rough, 
heavy,  unsightly  brick  work  and  detracted  much  from  the  appearance 
of  the  splendid  group  as  it  exists  today,  but  the  colossal  proportions, 
the  great  dome,  the  three  finished  sides  encrusted  with  vari-colored 
marbles,  the  mosaics,  the  lovely  lunettes  above  the  bronze  doors,  the 
interior,  well  filled  with  sculpture,  and  delightful  old  stained  glass 
windows  gave  us  enough  to  admire. 

And  the  glorious  Campanile!  that  shining  brilliant  tower  of 
exquisite  workmanship,  gleaming  in  the  upper  air  against  a  back- 
ground of  clear  blue  sky!  Adorned  with  sculpture,  reliefs,  bands  of 
mosaics,  and  graceful  windows,  while  the  marbles  with  which  it  was 
built,  the  black  and  white,  the  blue  and  yellow,  the  red  and  green  all 
blended  in  an  indescribable  harmony  of  color  and  tone! 

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iiiuiniMiiiiiiiiiMiMniiiMiiMiMiiiiuiiiiiniiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiinHUHiMniiiiuininiiiiiiiiniHiMtiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniMiiniiiiiiiiiimniiiiiHnHiiHiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiMriiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiuiiniiiMiininiuniiiMiMniHiiiiHiirniiiiinimiiiiniHiiniiiiiiiinimiiinitiiiHmiimiiHiiiiiHmiiiHunmiHiiniiiiiniitnniiiMiiiniiimiiiiii^ 

The  famous,  wonderfully  chiselled  bronze  gates  of  the  Bap- 
tistery, were  a  delight.  The  execution  of  the  large  panels  represent- 
ing Bible  stories,  the  artistic  grouping  of  the  figures,  the  graceful, 
flowing  drapery,  and  the  exquisite  framework  around  each  panel,  of 
birds  and  vines  and  foliage  made  a  fascinating  study. 

The  dark  interior  with  columns  and  tombs,  the  signs  of  the  zodiac 
in  black  and  white  marbles  on  the  floor  and  the  old  baptismal  font 
was  an  interesting  place.  Here  for  centuries  children  have  been 
brought  for  baptism.  Here  Dante  was  baptized,  and  here  every  child 
born  in  Florence,  whether  that  of  the  Grand  Duke,  or  the  poorest 
peasant,  receives  its  baptismal  name;  one  only  exception  being  made 
for  the  poor,  nameless,  abandoned  waifs  left  at  the  door  of  the 
Foundling  Hospital,  which  institution  is  permitted  its  own  baptismal 
font. 

We  made  repeated  visits  to  the  galleries  of  those  immense 
palaces,  the  UfRzi  and  Pitti  (connected  by  a  passageway  above  the 
quaint,  little  jewelers'  shops  on  the  Ponte  Vecchio — that  dear  old 
bridge  that  crosses  the  Arno)  where  treasures  of  Art  are  measured  by 
miles,  and  oh,  the  gems,  the  masterpieces  of  those  wonderful  collec- 
tions ! 

What  glorious  pictures!  what  delightful  statuary  and  what  a 
debt  of  gratitude  posterity  owes  to  the  patrons  of  art  wherever  in 
the  World  they  were,  who  got  together  such  noble  collections.  We 
took  great  interest  in  the  portraits  of  Florentine  society;  the  princes 
and  bankers,  and  the  lovely  women  who  "preserved  from  oblivion  by 
a  painter's  hand  live  on  in  enduring  grace  and  youth." 

For  the  massive,  medieval  palaces  we  felt  great  enthusiasm. 
The  Pitti  and  Uflizi,  the  Strozzi  with  wrought  iron  lanterns  and  rings 
on  the  facades  where  flags  fluttered  and  torches  flared  on  triumphal 
and  festive  occasions;  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  with  overhanging  battle- 
ments and  quaint,  picturesque  tower,  a  landmark  that  often  guided 
our  wandering  steps;  and  the  Palazzo  del  Podesta,  known  as  ^'il 
Bargello"  for  centuries  the  residence  of  the  Podesta,  chief  magistrate 
of  Florence.  The  Podesta,  always  an  alien  noble,  holding  ofiice  for 
only  six  months,  came  by  invitation  with  assistants  and  retinue,  to  try 
cases  and  settle  disputes  between  the  ever  warring  factions  of  the 
Commonwealth. 

The  court  and  stairway  of  il  Bargello  with  statues  and  armorial 
bearings  and  the  open  loggia  above  was  a  joy  to  look  upon. 

Another  of  the  joys  of  Florence  that  we  made  many  a  detour 
for  sight  of,  was  the  exquisite  Loggia  dei  Lanzi,  on  pillared  arches, 

Page  Ninety-two 


wiwMiiiiiiHHiMiiiNiiiiiuuiiuiiiMiHnmiuiiiiiiiniHiiiiiiinmiiiiiHiiiiiiiuiiHiiniiiiiiiHimiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinHiiiiiiiiiiuiiiinHiiHiiiMiiiiiiiiinii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiMiiiiuiiiiiiitiinMniiiiiititiiiiiuiiiiiiniiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiHiHiiiiiiiiiniuiiniHiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiHiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiM 

open  to  the  air  and  sunshine  and  holding  splendid  sculptures  in 
marble  and  bronze. 

We  went  to  the  Foundling  Hospital  (with  admirable  niceness  of 
feeling  called  by  the  Florentines,  the  Hospital  of  the  Innocents) 
where,  above  the  columns  and  arches  of  the  facade,  was  Delia  Robbias 
delightful  frieze  of  adorable,  swathed  babies.  The  most  appealing 
works  of  Art!  those  lovely  medallions  of  blue  and  white  porcelain 
depicting  the  helplessness  of  infancy.  We  noticed  them  over  many 
doors  throughout  the  City,  and  you  learned  upon  inquiry  that  all 
houses  so  adorned  were  the  property  of  the  Institution. 

On  that  first  visit  to  Florence  we  often  saw  in  the  streets,  mem- 
bers of  the  Brotherhood  of  the  Misericordia  carrying  on  their  should- 
ers a  litter  on  which  an  outlined  form  could  be  plainly  seen.  At  first 
it  was  a  decided  shock  to  meet  them,  garbed  as  they  were  from  head 
to  foot  in  black,  with  hoods  fitting  closely  over  their  heads,  their 
gleaming  eyes  shining  through  holes  in  the  black  veil  that  hung  be- 
fore their  faces.  A  Brotherhood  that  included  in  its  membership 
men  from  every  rank  of  life,  the  titled  aristocrat,  and  the  man  who 
gained  his  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow.  Called  together  by  the 
tolling  of  the  Campanile  bell  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night  they 
would  hurry  to  the  Church  to  learn  where  their  services  were  needed ; 
and  "the  Grand  Duke  has  been  seen,  at  sound  of  the  Tower  bell  to 
rise  from  his  seat  at  table,  and  quietly  withdraw  from  his  assembled 
guests  to  attend  the  summons." 

They  furnished  the  destitute  with  food,  supplied  medicines  to 
the  indigent  sick,  watched  through  the  night  at  their  bedsides,  carried 
them  to  hospitals,  and  to  their  last  resting  places  those  whose  suffer- 
ings were  over ;  this  mission  was  performed  at  night,  and  once  we  met 
in  a  narrow  street  a  little  procession,  each  carrying  a  lighted  torch 
and  chanting  a  weird  requiem  as  they  marched.  Learning  that  all 
their  revenue  came  from  begging,  we  always  put  something  in  the 
little  box  when  it  was  held  before  us  by  a  black  robed  Brother. 

In  the  church  of  San  Lorenzo  we  saw  Michael  Angelo's  splendid 
monumental  tombs  of  the  Medici  and  the  burial  chapter  richly  deco- 
rated with  armorial  bearings  in  marble  and  precious  stones. 

By  the  merest  chance  we  saw  in  the  cloisters  of  the  church  a 
strange  sight.  From  proceeds  of  a  charity  dating  far  back,  homeless 
cats  were  fed  at  noon.  The  meal  was  scanty  and  when  it  was  over 
the  half-starved  cats  crawled  away,  and  looking  after  them  you 
exclaimed,  "How  I  should  like  to  give  them  all  a  square  meal  with 
plenty  of  cream.'* 

Page  Ninety-three 


■wnwHiiiiiMiMMiiwiiinnnwtMtnmiiiiwmwmmmimmmmiimtminwniWMiimiHmiiimnmnmmmMiiimiitmwtii^ 

■J!^.,£n„,M,,.„2,.,,5.,,,,l,..,S,.,»?. ;;;;;:.■ £„.9.,..i?l...jE 2....E...„.,„„„M„„^,„„1„„X 

All  the  churches  had  rich;  interesting  interiors, — monuments, 
chapels,  frescoes  and  tombs.  In  Santa  Croce  "the  shrine  of  Italian 
genius"  we  saw  the  resting  places  of  Michael  Angelo,  Galileo,  Machi- 
avelli  and  Rossini. 

Or  San  Michel  (once  a  granary)  was  the  church  of  the  powerful 
guilds.  Niches,  in  the  exterior  held  their  patron  Saints,  and  whenever 
a  Saints  Day  was  celebrated,  every  statue  held  a  fluttering  flag  and  the 
old  church  took  on  a  gay  and  festive  look. 

One  glorious  day  we  went  to  Fiesole  three  miles  away.  Outside 
the  city,  in  all  the  open  spaces,  children  and  grown  up  people  were 
gathering  wild  flowers,  and  thickly  dotted  over  the  radiant  country 
were  lovely  villas,  with  terraces,  balustrades  adorned  with  statues, 
blooming  gardens,  fountains,  and  clumps  of  tall,  picturesque  cypress 
trees.  When  we  reached  the  country  road  we  found  it  full  of  anima- 
tion; peasants  walking  in  both  directions,  and  country  carts  carrying 
the  products  of  small  places  to  the  city  markets;  and  we  passed  little 
shrines  with  bunches  of  wild  flowers  lying  before  the  image  of  the 
Virgin;  and  you  found  the  Villa  where  Boccacio  laid  the  scene  of  his 
Decameron, — ^the  place  where  the  seven  discreet,  nobly  born  ladies 
with  three  escorts  and  servants  took  refuge  when  fleeing  from  the 
plague-stricken  city;  and  we  came  upon  the  small  sheet  of  water  of 
which  Walter  Savage  Landor  wrote, 

"Here  by  the  Lake,  Boccacio's  fair  brigade. 
Beguiled  the  hours,  and  tale  for  tale  repaid." 

We  lingered  long  in  the  lovely,  poet-haunted  spot,  then  went  on 
and  up  to  Fiesole,  the  old  Etruscan  town. 

Another  day  we  hunted  up  "the  star  tower  of  Galileo."  A  de- 
lightful walk  by  a  winding  path  through  vineyards,  with  here  and 
there  a  peach  tree  in  blossom,  led  to  the  summit  of  a  steep  hill,  where, 
at  a  corner  of  a  charming  villa,  stood  the  tower  from  which  Galileo 
made  his  observations,  discovered  new  stars,  and  studied  the  moun- 
tains of  the  moon;  and  there  "Milton,  a  fair  haired  boy,"  visited  the 
great  Astronomer. 

The  Cascine — once  a  dairy  farm,  cascina — ^the  beautiful  park  of 
Florence  was  ideal.  A  park  of  sunny,  flower-gemmed  meadows, 
woodland,  and  charming  avenues  of  trees  running  along  the  Arno 
for  its  entire  two  miles  of  length.  There,  whenever  we  found  time 
to  go,  we  saw  the  wealth  and  fashion  of  Florence  promenading,  or 
driving  and  always  among  the  number,  Victor  Emmanuel  who  still 
remained  in  Florence  at  the  Pitti  Palace.    To  the  chraming  Boboli 

Page  Ninety-four 


wHmittnumiMiimmmmnHitmimmnnmNmmNnimntiimiitnnmtmnmminmmimnnmnmnMnmiiimtinnnmmmitmmmitn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

«miHiHHiMiiiinitHiiiiNiiiiinuiiiiMiiiiiiiiitiiitiiiiiitiiiuiiitninrriiminnHiHimitmniiniiiimiiiiimmiiiHHiMnHiiimtMHiiHUMiiiiiiiMMiiiiiiHim)iiiuttH^ 

gardens — ^the  King's  gardens — ^belonging  to,  and  adjoining  the  Pitti 
Palace  we  could  only  have  access  on  Sundays  when  they  were  always 
crowded. 

At  the  hotel  we  had  met  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Washburn  from  Boston. 
Mr.  Washburn  was  a  lawyer  of  large  practise  and  ripe  experience; 
being  in  poor  health  he  was  traveling  for  rest  and  recreation.  They 
were  delightful  people,  cultured  and  genial,  much  older  than  we 
were,  and  when  we  met  at  dinner  and  gave  them  the  spoils  of  our 
day's  sightseeing  they  were  often  incredulous.  They  had  been  in 
Florence  two  months  and  had  done  leisurely  what  we  were  doing  with 
a  rush,  and  our  activities  in  getting  on  the  tops  of  hills  and  high 
buildings  for  views,  and  seeing  things  generally  were  a  constant 
source  of  surprise  and  pleasure  to  them. 

They  never  went  for  a  days  sightseeing  ^\dth  us,  but  we  had 
many  delightful  hours  together;  we  strolled  about  the  streets  enjoy- 
ing the  attractive  shop  windows;  we  went  to  Mr.  Power's  studio  and 
had  a  pleasant  visit  with  that  genial  artist ;  we  walked  time  and  again 
over  the  old  bridge  looking  at  the  pretty  trinkets  in  the  jewelers' 
windows,  and  lingered  long  at  the  open  space  left  vacant  by  a  single 
house,  to  enjoy  the  charming  outlook  up  and  down  the  Arno;  towards 
the  close  of  day  we  often  drove  to  San  Miniato  al  Monte — a  noble  old 
church — and  waited  on  the  terrace  to  see  the  sunset  light  fall  upon 
the  "fair  city  of  Florence." 

Once  we  went  into  the  Campo  Santo,  back  of  the  church  where 
we  all  saw  for  the  first  time  what  was  common  in  Northern  Italy, 
portrait  statues  of  the  departed  erected  over  the  places  where  they 
lay  at  rest.  The  men  were  not  bad,  but  the  women  attired  in  gar- 
ments of  the  prevailing  style,  lace  trimmed,  with  ruffles  and  flounces, 
and  wearing  many  ornaments  were  sad  to  contemplate.  Where  there 
were  no  statues,  likenesses  of  the  deceased  were  inserted  in  the  tomb- 
stones. 

With  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Washburn  we  went  from  Florence  to  Pisa. 
We  crossed  the  Arno  to  the  famous  group  of  buildings  removed  from 
the  busy  streets  and  standing  quite  alone.  The  Duomo,  Baptistery 
and  Campanile  all  built  with  rows  of  short  white  marble  columns  and 
arches  rising  one  above  another,  and  ornamented  with  bands  of  black 
marble,  presented  a  unique  appearance.  Within,  we  found  lovely, 
old,  stained  glass  windows,  marble  and  bronze  statues  and  monuments 
and  a  richly  gilded  vaulting.  In  the  Baptistery,  a  pulpit  and  bap- 
tismal font  of  exquisite  workmanship. 

We  sat  down  on  the  Cathedral  steps,  opposite  the  Campanile,  or 

Page  Ninety-Uve 


iiiuiititHiiiininiiiiiiimninniiimiiiiinHiiiiiiiiimNiiiiiiiniuiiHuiiHiHnmnttuutumHiiMiiHHiiiiiiuHimiiniiniiiiiiiiiliiuiiiuiuiitimiiiiiiiiuiiim 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

'mmiiHnininiiinmiiiiiiiinininiiiiimMiuniiimniiiiiiiiihiiniinMtinmimiiaiMiiniiiiiiiiHminnuniuiiiniiiniMnuiinMintiiiniiiiHiiiiuiniiiiiiiiminiuiiiiiniuM 

Leaning  Tower,  and  speculated  as  all  the  World  has  done  for  cen- 
turies, whether  the  incline  of  fifteen  feet  from  the  perpendicular  was 
accident  or  design.  You  and  Mr.  Washburn  thought  it  intentional,, 
basing  your  opinions  upon  the  fact  that  there  were  two  leaning  towers 
at  Bologna,  one  at  Saragossa,  and  others  in  unfrequented  towns  in 
Italy  and  all  built  at  about  the  same  time.  Then  you  and  I  went 
to  the  platform  on  the  upper  gallery  of  the  tower  and  had  a  glorious 
view. 

From  Pisa  we  went  to  Spezia.  Early  the  next  morning  we  were 
off  for  Sestri  Levante,  forty-five  miles  away.  In  sharp  turns  our 
road  ascended  until  we  reached  an  elevation  of  2,000  feet.  The  views 
were  glorious.  A  shore  line  dotted  with  villages  and  Spezia  nestled 
amid  the  gray-green  olive  trees.  Looking  down  upon  the  sparkling 
water  we  talked  of  Shelly — his  brilliant  mind,  his  virtues,  his  defects 
and  his  sad  fate, — ^how  returning  to  Spezia  from  Leghorn  where  he 
had  gone  to  see  Leigh  Hunt  and  Byron,  he  perished  at  thirty  years 
of  age,  in  a  storm  that  lashed  to  fury  the  waters  of  this  placid,  peace- 
ful looking  Bay.  Our  road  was  full  of  interest — only  a  meager 
population  in  little  hamlets  poorly  housed,  with  a  few  cattle  and 
many  goats  grazing  in  the  green  places;  but  we  saw  ruins  of  castles 
and  towers  and  had  lovely  views  of  inland  valleys. 

Under  a  group  of  trees,  near  a  spring  of  deliciously  cold  water 
with  a  view  in  the  blue  distance  of  the  pointed  snow  white  summits 
of  the  Carara  Mountains,  we  spent  a  happy  hour  over  the  excellent 
lunch  put  up  for  us  at  the  hotel ;  to  the  driver's  few  lettuce  leaves  and 
chunk  of  black  bread  we  added  delicacies  from  our  basket  and  made 
him  happy,  while  near  bj^  the  horses  crunched,  and  tossed  their  nose- 
bags of  oats,  quite  members  of  our  little  party. 

After  our  road  left  the  ridge  we  made  the  descent  to  a  small 
bay,  between  hillsides  pink  with  heather,  and  in  the  sweet  dusk  of 
the  Spring  evening  were  put  down  at  the  railroad  station  of  Sestri 
Levante. 

Genoa  was  twenty-six  miles  away.  In  time  a  train  came  that 
carried  us  there  in  two  and  a  half  hours.  Oh,  those  tedious  Italian 
trains ! 

From  the  Hotel  d'ltalia  the  following  morning,  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Washburn,  we  went  out  into  the  streets  of  Genoa  "La  Superba." 

The  first  thing  that  attracted  our  attention  was  the  old  National 
costume,  still  in  vogue  in  Genoa,  of  women  and  girls  wearing  long 
flowing  white  veils  pinned  to  the  hair  and  falling  over  the  shoulders. 
They  made  the  young,  pretty  girls  look  perfectly  bewitching — the 

Page  Ninety-six 


iHuiMiHiniiMiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiftiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiliNUiuiiuiuiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiniiiiriiiMiunnniiiiirniiiiKiiiiiniMiiiiiiiiii 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

lumiiiiMiiuiuiiiiiMiiinuiiniMiiiiiiiMiiriniiiunniNininiiiuiiiiiininiirMniHHiuiiiininiiinniiniHmHriiHniniHiinuiiiMiiinniiuniiiiiuiJiiniininiiiiiMiMiiuiinniiiiuininiin 

middle  aged,  the  faded  and  the  old,  would  have  looked  better  without 
them. 

We  visited  the  most  famous  and  imposing  palaces  of  the  Genoese 
nobility,  admiring  their  Courtyards  paved  with  marble,  surrounded  by 
colonnades  of  marble  pillars,  with  orange  trees  and  blooming  shrubs, 
and  in  the  center  an  ornamental  fountain;  broad  marble  staircases 
with  bannisters  of  gilded  bronze  led  to  spacious  rooms,  hung  with 
rare  and  beautiful  pictures. 

At  noon  our  friends  returned  to  the  hotel  and  we  went  on  with 
sightseeing.  Handsome  churches  with  rich  interiors,  the  Columbus 
Monument,  lofty  places  for  views,  brass  signs  of  business  houses 
fastened  to  the  walls  by  padlocks;  and  enjoying  on  all  sides  the 
street  scenes;  the  women  and  girls  with  streaming  white  veils;  the 
steps  leading  to  streets  above,  up  which  people,  and  donkeys  with 
loaded  panniers  were  toiling;  the  clothes  fluttering  from  lines  over 
the  narrow  alleys,  and  oh,  those  alleys,  misnamed  streets; — just 
passage-ways  between  houses  six  and  seven  stories  high,  such  you 
thought,  as  Heine  wrote  of  "where  the  people  sat  and  talked  in  their 
doorways  and  touched  knees  with  the  people  sitting  and  talking  in 
the  doorways  of  the  opposite  side." 

At  dinner  we  told  what  we  had  seen  and  done.  Our  friends  had 
been  looking  over  their  guide  to  Genoa  and  reading  of  the  church 
dome  370  feet  in  height  that  commanded  a  wonderful  view,  felt  sure 
that  we  would  have  that  view — and  we  did. 

We  spent  the  evening  on  the  crowded  streets  admiring  in  the 
shop  windows  articles  of  Genoese  manufacture;  gold  and  silver 
filigree  work,  silks,  velvets  and  candied  fruits. 

The  next  morning  we  went  to  the  Old  Mole.  We  walked  along 
the  arcaded  street  facing  the  busy  harbor  and  saw  many  entertaining 
things;  the  little  shops  that  supplied  the  sailors  with  their  wants — 
tobacco  and  pipes,  ear-rings,  pea  jackets,  rubber  boots  and  clothing 
of  every  kind. 

Little  eating  places  with  blue  smoke  pouring  from  doors  and 
windows,  where  fish  and  meat  and  vegetables  were  sizzling  in  boiling 
oil,  and  frowsy  women  and  girls,  standing  in  doorways  called  out  the 
menu  in  loud  voices,  and  the  price  at  which  it  would  be  served. 

And  the  ships  from  ports  of  countries  all  over  the  World,  with 
their  flags  flying  from  mastheads,  and  clothes  of  the  crew  fluttering 
and  drying  on  the  decks, — and  the  men  that  came  from  the  ships 
were  a  study  as  they  rolled  along  the  busy  street  singly  or  in  groups. 
Most  of  them  were  "old  salts"  with  tanned,  seamed,  weather-beaten 

Page  Ninety-seven 


d4inniiiiiHM4iiiiiiiiiiinmninmiinttitmiitiMH«iiitniiiiniiimiiimnninniitiiimiMmmiiniimniiimininninmnmniMiiininiiniiiintniiiintiiittiiiuiiiiMMiiinniimimi»iHiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iniHiiimiwiiHHiiiiiiiimHinHHiiiHiniiiiininiiininiunwiiiniiiHiiiHiuiiHiiiiiniuiHHmmiiiminiUHHiiiiiiiHiimHiiiiMnHniHUMiiiHniHUMiiiniunMiniM 

faces,  hoops  of  gold  in  their  ears  and  red  kerchiefs  loosely  knotted 
around  their  open  throats.  In  color  they  were  white,  yellow  and 
black.  And  the  small  carts  being  loaded  with  all  kinds  of  provisions 
and  merchandise, — before  each  cart  four  or  five  mules  or  donkeys 
harnessed  tandem;  they  all  had  strings  of  bells  around  their  necks, 
and  when  they  clattered  away  over  the  stony  pavement,  the  bells 
jingling,  the  drivers  cracking  their  whips,  and  a  donkey  or  two 
braying,  we  laughed  heartily. 

Later  in  the  day  we  went  to  the  Pallavicini  Villa.  The  grounds 
were  extensive  and  abloom  with  a  perfect  glory  of  flowers;  such 
masses  of  gorgeous  rhododendrons  and  azaleas,  and  from  large  trees 
men  were  cutting  camelies,  red,  white  and  shell  pink  and  packing 
them  in  boxes  for  shipment.  Sunny  glades,  shaded  paths,  lakes,  cas- 
cades, avenues  of  splendid  trees  and  a  background  of  rugged  hills 
with  lovely  views — no  wonder  the  gardens  were  celebrated. 

As  we  neared  the  exit  we  heard  screams,  shouts  of  laughter  and 
angry  words  from  a  large  party  in  advance  of  us.  We  asked  our 
guide  what  had  happened.  He  answered  he  would  show  us  later. 
We  soon  came  to  a  grass  plot  with  beds  of  flowers  surrounded  by 
many  small  arbors,  where  he  told  us  to  wait  and  going  forward 
turned  on  a  cross-fire  of  water  in  spray  and  fine  jets.  Caught  in  this 
cross-fire  of  water  if  refuge  was  taken  in  an  arbor,  it  was  only  to 
find  that  water  was  everywhere  spurting  up  from  the  ground.  It 
was  probably  the  dignified  appearance  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Washburn 
that  saved  our  little  party  from  the  experience. 

That  evening  we  parted  from  our  friends.  It  was  not  good-by, 
only  au  revoir,  for  we  had  planned  to  meet  in  Paris.  The  war  was 
over  and  treaties  ratified.  The  Commune  had  been  proclaimed,  but 
we  had  faith  that  the  Government  would  soon  suppress  it.  Spain 
was  our  objective  point  and  we  wanted  to  reach  there  while  still  the 
freshness  of  Spring  was  over  the  land. 

At  nine  o'clock  we  sailed  in  a  small  coasting  steamer  for  Nice. 
Going  from  the  harbor  was  a  wonderful  sight.  The  lighthouse  with 
its  powerful  revolving  light, — ship  lights  twinkling  in  the  forest  of 
masts, — frowning  forts, — the  curving  lights  from  handsome  homes 
rising  terrace  above  terrace,  and  in  the  remote  background,  the 
dark,  sheltering,  everlasting  hills. 

Going  on  deck  at  half -past  six  next  morning  we  found  that  we 
were  opposite  the  town  of  Monaco,  picturesquely  situated  on  the 
level  summit  of  a  rocky  headland.     Monaco!  of  all  the   World's 

Page  Ninety-eight 


itwHimiiiiiMintiMitiiMuiiuitituHiniriiMiiiMinHMiMiimntiiiiitiiiitiHiiMmimiimnMHntmiiinHmiiinmniimiirniimiimiirHniniiiinniiiiiimmiiimiiimHiininimiHniHniii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

WHH<HiiiiHiMiiiiuHi»iiiimuHiiii»iiiiiiinniiiunHimimiMuiniiiiiiiniim»HuiininnH»HiiiiiiiiHHniMHiHiiiii»HiiiiiiiMiiHiiHiMiniiiiiiiwiHiimii»miH>iiHiiiHi^ 

principalities  the  smallest  and  with  its  possession  of  Monte  Carlo, 
the  wickedest! 

Nine  miles  farther  on  we  came  to  anchor  in  the  small,  picturesque 
harbor  of  Nice. 

During  our  stay  of  a  few  hours  Nice  did  not  show  us  her  pleas- 
ant side.  True,  the  sun  was  shining — shining  with  so  intense  a 
warmth  that  the  shade  was  grateful,  but  a  high  wind  was  blowing, 
and  clouds  of  white  dust  filled  the  air. 

We  walked  on  the  promenade  along  the  seashore,  and  at  noon 
took  the  train  for  Marseilles.  As  we  came  in  sight  of  the  sea,  you 
said, 

"Well — do  you  realize  that  we  are  on  the  Riviera?" 
"Riviera,"  I  repeated,  "what  a  pretty  musical  name  it  is." 
"Yes,"  you  answered,  "Riviera  di  Ponente,  the  West,  and  by 
poetic  license  the  Westerly  wind  and  the  setting  sun;  and  Sestri- 
Levante  is  the  East  and  by  the  same  license  the  rising  sun." 

Then  we  talked  of  the  lovely  scenes  through  which  we  were 
passing,  little  dreaming  how  familiar  they  would  be  in  happy  winters 
of  the  years  to  come. 

Lofty  hills  crowned  by  ruins;  orange,  lemon  and  fig  trees; 
delicious  villas  embowered  in  flowers;  vineyards,  and  old,  old  olive 
trees  with  trunks  twisted  and  gnarled  by  father  Time;  and  the  bold 
indented  picturesque  shore,  with  rocks  and  cliffs  and  dear  little  semi- 
circular bays  filled  with  the  blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean;  so 
lovely,  so  vivid,  so  varying  in  color,  that  Tennyson  described  it  per- 
fectly when  he  likened  it  to  "the  peacock's  neck  in  hue."  Over  it  all 
brilliant  sunshine  and  an  azure  sky.  Ah,  Dear  Heart  of  mine,  what 
a  delightful  ride  that  was,  and  how  we  did  enjoy  it! 

As  we  neared  Marseilles  the  country  lost  its  attractive  appear- 
ance. In  driving  from  the  station  we  noticed  evidences  of  excite- 
ment everywhere, — guards  of  soldiers  and  bands  of  agitated  men. 
When  we  reached  the  Hotel  du  Louvre  we  learned  that  on  the  pre- 
ceding day  the  Red  Republicans  had  taken  possession  of  the  City 
Hall,  cut  all  the  telegraph  wires,  and  that  the  City  was  practically 
in  the  hands  of  the  insurgents. 

Our  after  dinner  stroll  was  of  short  duration.  A  cold  wind  was 
blowing  and  the  streets  were  deserted  except  by  loud-talking,  angry 
men,  and  groups  of  soldiers.  The  following  day  it  rained  steadily 
and  as  Marseilles  was  not  a  pleasant  place  to  loiter  in  just  then,  we 
left  by  the  night  train  at  ten  o'clock. 

Page  Ninety-nine 


NiiiiiiiiinuiuiiuiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiuiininiiuniiiiniiiinHiiiiiiniHiiiiiiiiHMiiniiiiiiiiiimniniiiiiitniiiiiniMiiiiiiniinitMiniiiniiniiiniHniiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiniin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       O  F       MANY 

niiiiiniiiiiiiiiiniinMiniiininiinMiiniiiiniMUMiniiirnnuiuiMiiMMiuiiiiiiiiiniiuiiiuniiiiiniMuiinmiiiHiiiiiiuitiniuiininiuniniiiiiiniiunnininHHiuniiiiniiiiiiiiii 

At  seven  the  next  morning  we  reached  Cette;  after  Marseilles 
the  principal  commercial  port  on  the  South  coast  of  France.  We 
rode  through  a  pleasant  country  intersected  by  many  canals  and  at 
two  in  the  afternoon  were  at  Toulouse. 

A  neighbor  who  often  called  at  our  old  home  in  Central  New 
York  raised  a  variety  of  fancy  poultry  and  the  geese  whose  ancestors 
came  from  this  old  French  province  were  his  especial  pride,  and  fine 
birds  they  surely  were.  When  he  bid  us  farewell,  he  said,  "If  in 
your  travels  you  reach  Toulouse  and  see  any  of  their  famous  geese 
you  must  let  me  know  if  they  are  finer  than  mine."  We  had  reached 
Toulouse  but  felt  there  was  little  chance  of  seeing  any  geese. 

Trains  packed  with  troops  were  a  common  sight  in  France  at 
that  tinae.  Soldiers  going  to  Paris  to  help  in  putting  down  the 
commune.  Others  that  had  been  wounded,  and  prisoners  of  war  re- 
turning from  Germany  to  their  homes.  In  a  long  train  side-tracked 
near  the  town  we  saw  many  pale-faced  boys  who  looked  pathetically 
ill. 

Soon  after  leaving  Toulouse,  I  was  studying  the  guide  book  to 
be  ready  for  the  sights  of  Pau,  when  you  said, 

"Oh — look  out  of  the  window." 

I  looked,  and  there  were  the  geese  that  I  had  wished  so  much  to 
see,  and  a  very  pretty  sight  they  were.  In  the  space  of  a  mile  or 
two,  we  saw  fully  a  dozen  flocks.  Each  flock,  numbering  about 
twenty-five,  plump,  snow-white  geese  was  in  charge  of  either  a  young 
girl  or  boy  in  picturesque  peasant  costume,  with  a  long  wand. 

"Just  as  I  have  seen  them  in  pictures,"  I  said. 

We  reached  Pau  ten  o'clock  at  night.  A  tedious  journey  of 
twenty-four  hours  from  Marseilles,  and  were  glad  to  rest  at  the  com- 
fortable Hotel  la  Paix. 

The  following  morning  we  were  out  early  for  a  view  of  the 
Pyrenees  from  the  famous  "Terrace  at  Pau"  and  a  glorious  view  it 
was !  For  nearly  one  hundred  miles  we  saw  the  splendid  snow-capped 
range,  with  here  and  there  a  glittering  peak  rising  above  its  fellows. 

The  town  was  divided  in  two,  by  a  small,  swift  stream,  the  Gave 
de  Pau,  flowing  in  a  deep  ravine.  Crossed  by  many  bridges  it  added 
greatly  to  the  picturesqueness  of  the  place.  "Gave"  (meaning  a 
mountain  stream  or  torrent)  soon  became  a  familiar  word  to  us.  The 
little  "Gaves"  fed  by  mountain  snows,  taking  the  name  of  every 
town  through  which  they  passed. 

In  the   Place   Royale   we   admired   the  statue   of  the   "White 

Page  One  Hundred 


•HHxii" i""i>i"i"iMiHniiniiiitiniiiiMniniHHniiiiniiiiiinMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinfliiiiiiiiiuiniiiiiiiiitiiHiniiiiiiiiliriiiiMiiiiinirtixriiffliiiiiAiMM«ii/liiiAiiiiiwtAiiiiiA 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

imHiiiiniiiMtiiiiiiiiiiiiiniMiniiiiiiiiiiNiiiiHiii(nniniHiiniiiiiimitiHiiiiiiHiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiMUiiiiiniinniiniiiiiiiiHninHiiiitnniiiimiiiiniiniimiiniiiiiiHn 

Plumed  Knight"  and  walked  in  the  fine  Boulevard  des  Pyrenees  to 
the  Castle  gardens.  Indeed  Pau  with  handsome  hotels  an  elegant 
casino,  the  old  castle,  and  delightful  walks  and  \Tiews  captivated  us 
completely. 

With  a  crowd  of  tourists  we  were  shown  through  the  State 
apartments  of  the  Castle,  and  the  room  in  which  Henry  IV  first  saw 
the  light,  the  cradle  in  which  he  was  rocked,  made  from  an  immense 
tortoise  shell,  and  a  wonderfully  carved  old  bed. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  day  we  left  Pau  and  four  hours  later 
were  in  Bayonne,  an  interesting,  medieval  city,  divided  by  two  rivers 
and  united  by  many  bridges,  with  narrow  animated  streets,  roadways 
paved  with  cobblestones  and  old  houses  with  long  rows  of  arcades. 
Under  the  arcades  were  dark,  little  shops  in  and  out  of  which  men  and 
boys,  women  and  girls  were  bustling.  The  girls  were  pretty  and 
wore  small,  bright  colored  handkerchiefs  pinned  over  their  abundant 
hair. 

We  were  only  three  miles  from  the  sea  and  by  climbing  the 
Citadel  Hill  might  have  looked  upon  the  Bay  of  Biscay  but  we  were 
growing  wise  and  did  not  do  it.  We  found  a  delightful  promenade 
next  morning  along  a  river  bank,  but  deserted  at  that  early  hour.  We 
strayed  into  a  suburb  of  pretty  homes  with  small  orchards  of  blos- 
soming peach  and  apricot  trees;  and  saw  in  a  long  avenue  two  very 
old  men  making  rope,  with  the  hemp  stretched  from  tree  to  tree. 

At  noon  we  drove  from  the  Hotel  du  Commerce  to  the  station. 
There  we  saw  a  party  of  Basques  from  an  adjoining  province,  and 
how  picturesque  they  were  in  their  jaunty  costumes!  A  dark  blue 
woolen  cap, — a  velvet  jacket  so  short  that  the  wide  crimson  sash  was 
seen  all  around, — dark  knee  breeches, — long  woolen  stockings  and 
leather  sandals  or  wooden  shoes.  Of  their  queer  uncouth  language 
we  could  not  understand  a  word. 

Two  hours  after  leaving  Bayonne  we  crossed  the  Bidassoa  river 
and  were  in  Spain,  and  a  mile  or  two  farther  on  came  to  Irun,  the 
first  frontier  town,  where  we  changed  cars,  and  baggage  was  exam- 
ined. We  had  each  a  large  valise.  The  entire  contents  of  the  two 
were  thrown  upon  the  ground,  and  each  article  was  carefully  exam- 
ined before  being  returned  to  its  place.  Your  valise  gave  no  trouble, 
but  in  mine  they  found  a  bottle  of  cologne  wrapped  round  and  round 
with  underclothing  to  prevent  its  being  broken.  The  bottle  was  only 
half  full  but  one  after  another  official  was  called  in  to  express  an 
opinion.  We  thought  it  was  going  to  be  confiscated  when  an  officer 
in  elaborate  uniform  walking  among  the  contents  of  many  trunks 

Page  One  Hundred  One 


umjiHr.inMm:Hi<iV<iHmimi<winnf4imtfiiAnriiii;tf.miHmiiiHHmttmiHiHmHnmiinmnHiiHnnnmiiiimnminiirniiiiiininmtmimiiniiiiiiiiimimm 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

wtmiMiiHMiiiMiiiuMiimHnMiuiiiHiiHntiininitiMiuiiiinNniniiimniwiuMliiiiMiHHimHMiiiiHHiHHiiinniiHiiiinHiHiiiinKHiiimHiiHiniuinMinHiitiiiiiniiMiniiniHiMtNiM 

and  bags  on  a  round  of  general  inspection  reached  us.  He  was 
handed  the  bottle.  He  looked  at  the  label,  cast  a  withering  look  on 
the  deputies  awaiting  his  verdict,  turned  to  me  with  a  bow  and  a 
smile  and  gave  me  my  eau  de  Cologne  with  the  air  of  a  Grandee. 

Before  the  daylight  died  away  we  had  many  lovely  views,  as  our 
train  began  its  climb  to  cross  the  Pyrenees,  where,  in  Spain  the  great 
range  had  lost  its  mighty  proportions.  We  had  a  first  class  compart- 
ment entirely  to  ourselves  and  a  comfortable  night.  When  the 
morning  dawned  we  were  in  a  bleak,  arid,  unattractive  region.  Soon 
we  passed  the  Escorial,  that  vast,  gloomy  pile,  built  by  Philip  Second 
for  his  lonely  home,  and  for  centuries  the  burial  place  of  Spanish 
Kings.  Over  3,000  feet  above  sea  level,  the  sullen-looking  Palace 
and  Church  with  dome  and  towers  looked  a  dismal  and  forbidding 
place. 

Reaching  Madrid  we  went  to  the  Fonda  de  los  Embaj  adores. 
The  second,  substantial  breakfast  was  not  yet  served  and  we  had  to 
content  ourselves  with  indifferent  coffee,  tasteless  Spanish  bread 
and  poor  Spanish  butter. 

We  were  not  on,  but  near,  the  famous  Puerta  del  Sol — the  Gate- 
way of  the  Sun — and  there,  we  first  turned  our  steps.  A  large  plaza 
with  a  fountain  in  the  center — dusty,  treeless,  and  built  around  with 
Government  and  business  buildings,  hotels,  clubs,  theaters  anid  cafes. 
Ten  important  streets  poured  into  it,  and  took  from  it,  at  all  hours 
of  the  day  and  night  a  constant  stream  of  humanity.  There  were 
private  carriages,  cabs,  tramcars  drawn  by  mules,  donkeys  with  loaded 
panniers,  men  and  boys  with  loud  voices  selling  newspapers,  lottetfy 
tickets,  matches,  toys,  books,  songs  and  things  without  end,  girls 
selling  flowers,  beggars  licensed  and  numbered,  men  in  long  cloaks 
and  broad  brinmied  hats  standing  in  the  sun  like  statues,  girls  under 
bright  colored  parasols  hurrying  across  the  plaza  in  care  of  a  duenna, 
water  carriers  calling  out  in  loud  voices,  "  Aqua,  aqua  quien  quiere, 
aqua?"  the  plaza  ground  being  sprinkled  (as  all  the  streets  of 
Madrid  were  sprinkled)  by  two  men,  each  holding  a  section  of  hose, 
throwing  jets  of  water  high  in  the  air,  where  they  met  and  fell  on 
the  dusty  places  beneath,  boys  carrying  small,  metal  saucers  with 
long  handles,  holding  live  coals,  at  which  men  for  a  grano — a  fifth  of 
a  cent — lighted  their  cigarettes,  and  so  forth;  and  so  forth. 

The  Royal  Picture  Gallery,  in  the  Museo  del  Prado — one  of 
the  greatest  collections  in  the  World — was  a  joy  to  see,  and  a  joy  to 
remember.  We  had  seen  many  fine  examples  of  Velasquez  and 
Murillo,  but  the  versatihty  of  these  two  great  painters  was  a  revela- 

Page  One  Hundred  Two 


«iniMiiiiiniiMimMmitniiiirtnMMiiiiiiiiiiiMiii{MinmiimininnitiiiirHMMiuiimmHNttniiiniiitHtminiiniiiMiiiHiiiiiinMiH[inniuHiniiiiHiniiHiiitiitiiittiiiiiiHiiiimimiiiiim^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

mrHiiniiniiMiiiiiuniwinMiiiMiiiiuiMiuiniiriiiniiHiHiHiiiiiniiiiniimiHMiiiiuiUHWMHiuiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiniHiiimimiiiMiiiiiiinmiMiiiiiniiuiiiiiiiiiiHninmiHiiiiiiim 

tion.  Velasquez  portraits  of  peasants  and  beggars, — of  men,  women 
and  children,  especially  of  those  Royal  children,  how  wonderful 
they  were!  They  might  grow  up  to  be  cruel  and  merciless,  but  what 
delightful  little  personages  on  the  canvas  of  the  artist,  particularly 
the  girls  with  their  frizzled  hair  standing  out  far  from  their  heads, 
their  bizarre  dress  with  immense  hoop  petticoats,  and  the  Court 
dwarfs  beside  them;  and  the  glorious  compositions  of  Murillo;  and 
Ribera,  powerful  but  dreadfully  realistic ;  and  pictures  of  Zurbaran — 
fine  gray-gowned  figures  of  cowled  and  corded  Monks  and  of  a 
later  period  Goya,  with  portraits  and  lively,  interesting  pictures  of 
Spanish  life;  and  in  addition  to  Spanish  painters,  there  were  the 
best  and  most  brilliant  creations  of  the  Italian,  Flemish,  Dutch, 
German  and  French  Masters. 

After  four  hours  in  the  Gallery,  you  said, 

"It  is  a  wonderful  collection  and  Philip  Second  did  some  good 
in  the  World  when  he  added  to  its  treasures, — ^but  I  am  famishing 
and  must  have  something  to  eat." 

We  went  to  a  street  crossing  hoping  to  find  a  cab.  Instead  of 
a  cab,  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  along  came  a  lumbering  omnibus  drawn  by 
three  mules  abreast.  When  you  paid  the  fare  you  told  the  conductor 
we  wanted  to  go  to  a  good  restaurant.  He  answered  "Si  Senor,"  and 
soon  put  us  down  at  a  "Restaurante"  which  he  assured  us  was  "bueno, 
muy  bueno."  It  was  a  very  Spanishy  looking  place,  with  a  strong 
smell  of  garlic.  There  was  no  menu,  and  you  asked  the  waiter  what 
they  had,  to  which  he  answered,  "hay  de  todo  Senor — todo  loque  vd 
quireo,"  at  which  you  smiled,  and  said  to  me,  they  have  got  every- 
thing, but  probably  not  a  thing  that  we  can  eat.  Then  you  asked  if 
we  could  have  olla  podrido,  "certeza  Senor,"  answered  the  waiter. 
When  he  went  to  fill  the  order,  you  said, 

"Now — you  will  have  the  opportunity  of  trying  the  national 
dish  of  Spain." 

"What  is  it  made  of?"  I  queried. 

"As  I  remember  it,  a  little  of  everything,"  you  answered. 

As  the  waiter  set  before  us  a  deep  platter  full  of  a  steaming 
mixture,  he  said  "Puchero  Senor." 

"Olla  podrido,"  you  insisted,  and  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
the  waiter  answered,  "todo  uno  Senor." 

We  were  fairly  ravenous  and  the  national  dish  of  Spain  was 
good, — it  was  more  than  good,  it  was  excellent.  After  the  pangs  of 
hunger  were  allayed,  you  asked  me  if  I  could  tell  what  the  dish  was 

Page  One  Hundred  Three 


;niiiiimnimniiiiniiniimiinniHiiiiiniininMinminMniiinniiniiiiniiHmMiiiiMiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiniiiiimiiiiiiiiiniiiiim 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iMiuuiiHiiiiiHiiHimiiiiinniiiniinMMniiiiniiiniMinMiHiiiiiiinHMiiiininiMmiiMntiiiimiiininnniMiHiiiintiiiuHHiiiiiiuiiiiiniuiiiuiiiMiiHniiHiiiinnninniniiiniiiiiii^ 

made  of,  and  then  together  we  made  a  list  of  the  contents,  which  my 
"ever  ready  pencil"  proceeded  to  make  a  note  of.  Beef,  chicken, 
sausage,  ham,  rice,  tomatoes,  hearts  of  artichokes,  gumbo,  peas, 
plenty  of  green  peppers,  small  red  beans  and  garlic.  [On  that  first 
visit  to  Spain,  the  national  dish  was  served  at  all  the  hotels  for  the 
second  breakfast,  or  dinner,  and  often  for  both, — on  subsequent 
visits  many  years  after,  it  was  unusual,  and  on  our  last  visit  we  went 
to  a  Spanish  restaurant  in  Madrid  for  a  taste  of  it.] 

You  had  ordered,  as  the  proper  thing  to  take  with  the  national 
dish,  a  flask  of  val  de  penas,  the  best  red  wine  made  in  Spain.  With 
smiles  and  "here's  to  you  dear"  we  clinked  our  full  glasses  together 
and  tasted  our  wine. 

My  face  askew,  I  asked,  "What  is  it?  Nothing  made  from 
grapes  could  taste  so  vile." 

You  answered,  "I  suppose  it  is  wine  brought  to  market  in  a 
goat  skin,  and  has  probably  been  stored  in  the  skin  a  long  time." 

Clapping  your  hands,  (the  only  means  of  summoning  the 
waiter)  he  admitted  that  the  flask  had  been  filled  direct  from  the 
skin,  and  said  their  customers  liked  it  that  way. 

You  ordered  cofl'ee — with  the  coff'ee  the  waiter  brought  two 
glasses  of  water  with  half  a  dozen  wafers  in  a  saucer;  these  wafers, 
called  "azucarillos"  were  always  served  with  coff'ee  and  chocolate; 
they  dissolved  readily  and  gave  a  pleasant,  refreshing  taste  to  the 
water,  with  the  flavor  of  a  mild  lemonade. 

We  had  little  experience  with  restaurants  during  our  stay  in 
Spain  as  all  the  hotels  were  conducted  on  what  we  called,  the  Ameri- 
can plan,  a  fixed  price,  three  dollars  a  day  each,  including  rooms, 
meals,  light  and  attendance,  and  the  distances  were  never  so  great 
that  returning  to  the  hotel  for  luncheon  was  an  inconvenience. 

Leaving  the  restaurant  we  took  a  mule  drawn  omnibus  and 
returned  to  the  Prado,  which  had  now  assumed  a  lively  appearance. 
The  center  of  this  famous  promenade,  called  the  Saloon  del  Prado, 
reserved  for  pedestrians  was  wide,  dusty,  pleasantly  shaded  by  four 
rows  of  trees,  with  small  iron  chairs  on  either  side,  and  adorned 
with  statues  and  fine  marble  fountains.  On  both  sides  was  a  carriage 
drive,  and  an  equestrian  way,  all  of  which  gradually  became  one  of 
the  gayest,  brightest,  most  brilliant  and  interesting  spectacles  imag- 
inable. Elegant  carriages  with  crests  on  the  panels,  footmen  and 
coachmen  in  rich  livery,  and  handsome  horses  with  shining  metal 
glittering  in  the  harness, — occasionally  a  four-in-hand,  or  a  team 

Fage  One  Hundred  Four 


iiiiriiniinniiMiiiiiHiiiitniiiniiiii»iinniiiiiitiiniiinHiuiiiiiinniiiiintriiiiiiriitriiiiniMHiiiiiniiiitiiHniiiniininiiiitMiuiinuiiiiiiiiiiituiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiiiininiiniin 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiiiiiiMMnHiiiniiiiniitMnnimnMniiiiriiunMiiiiiiMiMiiiinniiiiiiiiiiiinmiiiiiiiniminiiuMiiiiiiiiinniiuiiinnuniiniiiiiriiinnnniiiiiiiiiiMiMiiMiiuiininniiiiiuiinini 

driven  tandem  before  a  stylish  cart,  and  we  saw  several  carriages 
bearing  crests,  drawn  by  fine,  glossy,  mouse-colored  mules. 

Officers  were  riding  back  and  forth  on  the  equestrian  way, — 
ladies  and  gentlemen  were  leaving  their  carriages  for  a  little  stroll 
and  to  meet  and  chat  with  friends. 

The  animation  was  all  carried  on  between  two  handsome  foun- 
tains— Cybele  and  Neptune — the  short  distance  being  packed  with 
people,  and  after  the  little  walk,  the  coquetting,  the  constant  opening 
and  closing  of  fans,  the  talk  and  laughter,  carriages  would  be  re- 
entered for  a  drive  in  the  park. 

These  most  attractive  Madrilenos  were  adorned  with  jewelry 
and  sparkling  gems,  gov/ned  in  rich  fabrics  of  different  colors — 
those  in  black,  looking  by  far,  the  most  distinguished — made  in  the 
latest  fashion,  their  trailing  skirts  raising  little  clouds  of  dust  as  they 
went  along.  A  high  comb  held  the  thick  braids  of  dark  hair  in 
place,  and  from  it  hung  the  becoming  black  lace  mantilla  that  fell 
gracefully  over  the  shoulders.  Always  a  fan  in  the  hand  that  was 
never  at  rest, — always  a  rose  or  red  carnation  pinned  to  the  hair  on 
one  side.  They  were  fine  looking  women,  some  of  quite  heroic  size, 
very  vivacious,  with  lustrous,  flashing  dark  eyes,  gleaming  white 
teeth  and  good  features.  Those  hovering  about  the  magical  age  of 
twenty  were  perfectly  beautiful!  We  had  been  greatly  entertained 
and  delighted  by  such  an  unusual  sight  and  not  until  the  animation 
was  over  did  we  turn  away. 

In  the  evening  we  went  to  a  theater  to  see  a  variety  entertain- 
ment. Nothing  good  but  the  Audalusian  dances  by  a  troupe  of  eight 
pretty  young  girls  in  charming  costume.  To  the  music  of  several 
guitars  they  danced  the  cachuca  and  bolero,  gracefully  and  delight- 
fully. All  through  the  evening  an  usher  came  at  intervals  to  look  at 
the  stub  of  your  ticket;  you  asked  for  an  explanation,  and  learned, 
that  those  who  did  not  care  for  the  entire  performance  might  pay  for 
what  they  wanted  to  see,  and  leave  the  rest  unseen  and  unpaid  for. 

Coming  out  on  the  "Saloon  del  Prado"  from  the  Picture  Gallery 
next  morning,  we  found  it  in  possession  of  nursemaids  in  brilliant 
attire  and  children.  Lovely  Spanish  children  just  like  the  cherubs 
Murillo  painted!  They  made  a  pretty  picture  playing  about  the 
beautiful  old  fountain  of  Neptune. 

The  Royal  Palace — said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  Royal  Palace 
in  Europe — ^we  admired  immensely.  Of  great  proportions,  built  of 
fine  white  granite,  it  stood,  a  stately,  magnificent,  glittering  pile  above 
the  Manzaneres  river.    In  front  of  the  Palace,  mounted  and  on  foot 

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'iHHMiiitininiMiiiimiinimiiMMiiiiiiiimiiinimnrinitimmiimiHmHttmutiHttmiiHitHniiiiHiHiiimimiHHiiHiiHiitmiiimHiimmmHHUiHninHiiuiiiHHMiiMHimi^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

WMiiHiHiuiiiiinHiHiiniiiniuiniNHinniHiiiiHiiiiumutiiiHiiHiiimuiiwiMHiimiiiiiMiHiinmiiMiiiunuimiiiniiiuiHuuuiiiinmiHUiiiiiiiiHiiniiHMiininniuiiHiMiuii^ 

were  the  Royal  Guard,  in  uniform  of  red,  black  and  white,  with 
spears  in  their  hands.  Their  plumed  hats  were  remarkable, — white 
plumes  showing  in  front,  and  black  plumes  at  the  back.  From  the 
terrace  we  had  a  fine  view  of  the  Sierra  Guadarrama  Mountains, 
their  sharp  peaks  still  covered  with  a  thick  mantle  of  snow. 

In  the  Royal  Armeria,  within  the  Palace  grounds  we  saw  an 
interesting  collection  of  ancient  armor,  and  arms, — the  armor  worn 
by  Charles  V  and  Philip  II  and  the  swords  they  carried, — also  the 
swords  of  Cortez  and  Pizarro. 

The  streets  of  Madrid  were  a  source  of  never  ending  interest. 
In  the  early  mornings  donkeys  were  being  everywhere  unloaded, 
and  all  the  sidewalks  were  market  places,  with  piles  of  oranges, 
lemons,  vegetables  and  bunches  of  flowers.  A  frequent  sight  was 
a  man  carrying  toys,  candies  and  cakes — all  of  the  cheapest  kind — 
and  a  wheel  of  fortune,  in  which  little  boys  and  girls,  for  a  small 
coin,  the  fraction  of  a  cent,  would  try  their  chances  at  gambling,  and 
it  was  curious  to  see  the  eagerness  with  which  the  small  faces  would 
watch  the  turning  of  the  wheel.  Looking  one  day  at  one  of  these 
peripatetic  shops  and  lotteries,  a  mite  of  a  boy,  badly  crippled,  cried 
so  bitterly  upon  losing,  that  you  gave  him  enough  money  for  a  dozen 
chances,  and  we  left  him  with  his  little  pinched  face  full  of  the 
pleasure  of  hope. 

We  often  stopped  to  look  at  the  women,  washing  and  beating 
clothes  in  the  scanty  stream  of  the  River  bed,  scooping  out  the  white 
sand  to  make  a  pool  of  water  for  their  work;  and  the  high,  two- 
wheeled  carts  drawn  by  oxen  with  long  red  fringe  between  their 
horns;  and  the  water  carriers,  in  their  short  jackets,  knee  breeches 
and  pointed  hats,  carrying  water  in  porous  jars  of  clay,  a  little 
basket  holding  two  or  three  glasses,  a  lemon,  an  orange,  and  a  saucer 
of  azucarillos.  They  seemed  a  part  of  all  the  life  of  the  streets,  and 
even  when  they  were  out  of  sight  we  would  hear  the  cry,  "Aqua, 
aqua  fresca." 

And  the  mounted  police  carrying  lances  and  wearing  cloaks  that 
almost  covered  their  horses ;  and  men  roasting  coffee  on  the  sidewalks 
all  over  the  City,  turning  a  cylinder  over  a  charcoal  fire.  When  the 
beans  were  roasted  a  bell  would  be  rung  and  to  homes,  hotels  and 
cafes  the  fresh  roasted  coffee  would  be  carried,  and  the  cylinder 
re-filled  from  a  bag  of  green  coffee  beans. 

Nearly  every  day  we  went  to  the  Picture  Gallery,  timing  our 
visit  so  that  we  should  see  the  fashionable  crowd  in  the  Saloon  del 
Prado.     Going  there  on   Sunday  we  found  it  given  over  to  the 

Page  One  Hundred  Six 


■MmHKIIIIWIMItWWWIHMWmmiHnHHniWIIimiWmiWIIinilirillllllllllltlllHHIIIHHBHIWIHtllMIHIWMWIItMIHIMmHHItMtHHIIIWIWMmin^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

■UUIIIHIUIIIIim(UIIIIIIIIIIHUllHUIHnMHIIIMIIMinillUIIIIIIIIIHIiniH«MIIIUIMM<miWWMHIUIIMHUIUIUIIIUIIHUIIIIimilUllintHUIlllllllUninillHniUIIIIUI^ 

populace,  so  we  took  a  cab  and  joined  the  elite  in  a  drive  over  the 
dusty  roads  of  El  Retiro  park — the  least  attractive  of  city  parks  we 
had  seen  in  Europe. 

One  evening  we  went  to  the  Opera  House  to  hear  Tamberlich 
sing  selections  from  Opera.  He  sang  well  but  during  the  entire 
evening  all  over  the  house  people  were  talking  in  loud  tones.  The 
fashionable  world  was  not  there,  to  our  regret. 

The  reputation  of  Madrid  for  climate  has  always  been  bad. 
Situated  on  a  wind-swept  plain,  at  an  altitude  of  2,400  feet,  the 
intense  heat  of  summer,  and  the  biting  cold  of  winter,  have  given 
rise  to  several  proverbs.  "Three  months  of  winter,  and  nine  months 
of  the  infernal  regions" — "A  wind  that  will  not  put  out  the  flame 
of  a  candle,  but  will  put  out  the  life  of  a  man" — "Do  not  lay  aside 
your  cloak  until  the  fortieth  day  of  May."  The  men,  young  and 
old,  were  being  guided  by  the  latter  proverb,  and  were  all  enveloped 
in  their  long  cloaks.  Graceful  garments  those  cloaks !  with  rich,  vivid 
colored  linings  that  the  wearers  always  managed  to  show  effectively, 
and  often  observing  an  aggravated  case,  I  would  exclaim. 

"And  men  talk  about  the  vanity  of  womenr 

We  had  but  one  day  without  high  wind  and  clouds  of  dust. 
Bright  sunshine  and  the  bluest  of  skies,  but  an  air  so  keen  that  we 
felt  warm  wraps  a  necessity,  yet  the  women  of  Madrid  looked  serene, 
smiling  and  happy  under  their  becoming  lace  mantillas.  "Clothed 
with  vanity  as  by  a  garment,"  was  your  verdict. 

To  quote  verbatim  from  my  pencil^  Today,  April  3,  occurred 
the  opening  of  the  Cortes.  Flags  streamed  from  windows  and  house- 
tops, and  the  streets  were  thronged  with  people.  The  splendid  pro- 
cession passed  our  hotel.  A  band  of  music,  and  soldiers, — a  Royal 
Guard  in  shining  helmets  and  gleaming  sabres, — the  King  in  a 
gorgeous  carriage  drawn  by  four,  white  Andalusian  horses,  with 
outriders  in  liveries  of  scarlet  and  gold, — a  long  line  of  state  carriages 
carrying  high  dignitaries,  their  coachmen  and  footmen  in  brilliant 
livery.  We  wanted  to  see  the  opening  of  the  Cortes,  but  Gen. 
Sickles,  our  Minister  to  Spain  is  in  the  South,  and  his  representative 
was  all  at  sea,  not  knowing  how  to  obtain  the  favor  for  which  we  had 
asked;  and  it  is  no  balm  to  my  wounded  feelings  to  be  told,  that,  the 
procession  was  probably  the  best  part  of  it. 

At  that  time  the  King  of  Spain  was  Amedeo,  son  of  Victor 
Emmanuel.  Poor  young  fellow  not  yet  twenty-six  years  of  age  he 
had  been  reluctant  to  accept  the  invitation  given  him  by  the  Cortes. 
He  had  yielded  at  the  solicitation  of  his  Father  and  the  earnest  wish 

Page  One  Hundred  Seven 


iitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiitiiiii mil iiiniiniuiinnniiiiiiiimnMiHiiiiuiHiiimiiiiiiinniinnniinniiitiiiiiiiiiiitiiinniiiHiiiiiiiiininiinimiiniimiiiniiiiiiiiiniiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiim 

MEMORIES        —        SOME        OF        MANY 

lUinniiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiniiiiinnniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiMimiiiiimnmiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniiiiniiiiiuiiiniitiiuniiiiinnH 

of  the  Italian  Cabinet,  and  in  the  preceding  November  had  been,  by 
the  Cortes  proclaimed  King  of  Spain. 

Amadeo  and  the  young  Queen  had  done  everything  possible  to 
win  the  people.  They  had  given  immense  sums  in  charity  but  the 
Spanish  heart  did  not  warm  towards  them.  We  often  saw  the  Royal 
pair  bowing  right  and  left  as  they  drove  along  but  they  never  received 
even  the  deference  to  which  their  position  entitled  them. 

On  our  last  afternoon  in  Madrid  we  went  to  the  post  office  to 
mail  letters  and  found  to  our  surprise  that  we  could  not  buy  postage 
stamps  there,  but  must  get  them  at  a  tobacco  shop.  The  strange 
custom  prevailed  in  Spain  wherever  we  went,  but  knowing  it,  there 
was  no  inconvenience  since  tobacco  shops  were  everywhere  numerous. 

That  night  we  lingered  late  in  the  Puerta  del  Sol.  After  mid- 
night the  serenos  began  to  move  about,  crossing  the  plaza,  and  going 
to  their  respective  beats,  their  big  bunches  of  gigantic  keys  rattling 
as  they  walked  along.  Queer,  quaint  looking  men  these  serenos,  with 
their  long  dark  cloaks,  wide  brimmed  soft  hats,  lanterns,  and  staffs 
tipped  by  axes. 

The  serenos  no  longer  called  out  the  hours,  but  still  rendered 
valuable  service,  for  by  another  strange  custom,  the  men  of  Madrid 
never  carried  latch  keys.  When  they  reached  their  homes  late  at 
night,  or  early  in  the  morning  they  clapped  their  hands,  calling 
loudly,  ''sereno,  sereno"  and  then  waited  until  the  watchman  came 
with  his  key,  and  by  the  light  of  his  lantern,  opened  the  door  that 
admitted  the  owner  to  his  abode. 

Of  the  Fonda  de  los  Embaj  adores  we  had  but  one  complaint. 
Men  acted  as  chambermaids  and  our  pleasant  room  always  smelled  of 
tobacco  smoke. 

As  in  Germany  smoking  at  table  was  universal.  In  Germany  it 
was  cigars,  in  Spain  cigarettes.  Men  hurried  through  one  course  of 
their  dinner  to  smoke  as  many  cigarettes  as  possible  before  the  next 
course  was  served.  After  dinner  several  ladies  smoked  one  or  two 
cigarettes. 

We  left  Madrid  at  seven  in  the  morning  and  after  riding  three 
and  a  half  hours  through  a  bleak,  treeless,  verdureless  country, 
reached  Toledo. 

At  the  station,  awaiting  the  train  we  found  a  rickety  old  omni- 
bus drawn  by  five  mules,  three  near  the  wheels,  and  two  as  leaders. 
We  clambered  to  the  top  and  set  off  for  the  Medieval  city,  having 
from  our  vantage  ground  a  delightful  view  of  its  spires  and  towers, 
its  domes  and  turrets. 

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HimiiiiiiiiiinHiMiiiHitiiiniiniiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiniinMHinirHriMiiiiiiiliiininiiiiniiiiiinitiiiiiirnMHniniiiimiiiinininiiiruMiiiininiiiiMtiiiiitnnMnniiriiiinrMiiiiiitiiiinintHiii^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

yiimriiHiiiiMnHnnjHuniinMiiiiiiiinnnHninMiiiiMiniriNiiniiiiiiiiiiliiiiiiiiirniiiiHinmitmminiiiiiiiiniiiiiiHiiMiiitiinininiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiininiiiniiniiMini^ 

Standing  on  a  rugged  height  above  the  river  Tagus,  Toledo  wa^i 
verily  "a  city  built  upon  a  rock."  We  rattled  over  the  old  Alcantara 
bridge,  getting  glimpses  right  and  left  of  the  river,  flowing  svi^iftly 
between  deep  rocky  banks,  that  encircled  the  city  on  three  sides,  then 
up  through  narrow,  winding  streets,  and  in  front  of  the  Fonda  de 
Lino  we  scrambled  down  and  enquired  for  something  to  eat.  The 
second  breakfast  was  just  being  served,  which  we  thought  fortunate 
until  we  had  finished,  when  I  said, 

"Dear  Heart,  I  never  had  as  mean  a  breakfast,  except  the  one 
at  Chinese  Camp  after  our  all  night  ride  in  a  stage  coach  through  the 
mountains  of  California." 

Outside  the  hotel  a  crowd  of  beggars  were  lying  in  wait  for  us, 
and  heading  the  procession  we  went  to  the  Cathedral,  its  beautiful 
facade  so  built  around  by  shabby  houses  that  it  was  practically  hidden 
from  view.  The  interior  was  splendid  indeed!  The  towering  columns, 
the  glorious  windows  that  for  six  centuries  had  glowed  and  gleamed 
like  precious  stones ;  the  wonderful  wood  carving  of  the  choir  stalls 
representing  scenes  in  the  Conquest  of  Granada  with  spirited  horses 
under  high-peaked  saddles,  their  life-like  riders  carrying  the  arms, 
and  clad  in  the  armor  of  their  period.  Over  this  work  of  art  an  ala- 
baster canopy  upheld  by  columns  of  jasper.  There  were  beautifully 
decorated  chapels,  bronze  tombs,  alabaster  monuments,  paintings  by 
the  great  Masters  of  Spain  on  backgrounds  of  gold,  and  two  immense 
organs.    A  splendid  old  Cathedral!  that  Cathedral  in  Toledo! 

With  the  beggars  we  went  to  the  Puerta  del  Sol;  in  Toledo  not 
only  a  name  but  a  noble  structure  with  massive  turrets  and  a  grace- 
ful horseshoe  archway.  The  famous  Alcazar  was  undergoing  repairs, 
and  closed. 

We  were  curious  to  see  the  quaint  old  town,  of  which  we  had 
often  read,  with  its  white-washed  walls,  and  tall,  white-washed  houses 
built  on  narrow  streets.  Narrow  streets  indeed  they  were!  some 
actually  so  narrow  that  with  j^our  arms  outstretched  you  could  touch 
with  your  finger  tips  both  sides  at  once. 

In  those  narrow,  crooked  streets  the  beggars  had  every  advant- 
age. They  would  tweak  at  our  coat  sleeves,  at  the  skirt  of  your  coat 
and  at  my  dress.  A  horrid  lot,  believing  in  the  evil  eye,  the — 
mal  de  ojo — and  making  the  sign  of  the  corni,  to  avert  the  evil 
consequences,  that  a  glance  from  either  of  us  might  give  them.  They 
surrounded  us,  and  completely  destroyed  our  comfort  and  pleasure. 
How  we  did  want  to  look  at  those  wonderful  old  houses  undisturbed ! 
the  huge  doors  thickly  studded  with  nail  heads,  knockers  of  the  most 

Page  One  Hundred  Nine 


«nini»niiniiniininHiiHiiiiiiiHHiiiii»iiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiMiijnMHmiiimnHnnnniiHninniniimimiim>HimnHmHimtii«HnmmHnimwniHimMHitwMimtwtniiininmiiniininnimiw 

MEMORIES        —        SOME        OF        MANY 

uMniiiiiuiiiiHiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiuHiitniiiiinniiiiiininMtinMiiminHiiimimmnimHNHiHHiiiitHiiimmiuMMHiuHHuiHHmiiiiHuiHimiiHiiiMminiiHiitMiiNuiiiiHtiiiiiHi^ 

grotesque  and  varied  design;  the  endless  array  of  bolts  and  chains, 
and  the  few  windows  in  the  tall,  dark,  gloomy  facades  protected  by 
gratings  of  heavy  iron  bars.  Above  the  doors  were  medallions,  or 
Angels,  or  a  group  of  Saints,  or  chiselled  escutcheons  centuries  past 
the  pride  of  the  families  that  dwelt  within. 

We  stopped  at  a  shop  window  to  look  at  the  famous  Toledo 
blades,  but  persistent,  repulsive  beggars  thrust  themselves  between  us 
and  what  we  wanted  to  see. 

"I  wish  I  had  the  evil  eye  they  fear,  I  would  annihilate  every 
one  of  them,"  said  I  savagely. 

We  gave  up  trying  to  see  anything  more  and  walked  rapidly 
down  the  hill.  One  by  one  the  wretched  beggars  dropped  off,  and 
before  we  reached  the  long  Alcantara  bridge  we  were  free.  We  were 
enjoying  the  beautiful  view  that  Toledo  presents  from  below,  when 
about  midway  on  the  bridge  we  came  upon  a  scrap  of  a  boy  seated 
on  the  parapet  and  looking  towards  the  town.  He  had  large,  dreamy, 
lustrous,  hazel  eyes  heavily  fringed  with  long  lashes,  and  dark  curling 
hair  fell  beneath  his  badly  worn  straw  hat. 

"What  a  lovely  child!"  said  I,  as  we  were  passing. 

Then  you  stopped,  and  I  stopped,  you  saying, 

"Good  Morning  to  you,  little  man,"  raising  your  hat. 

"Good  Morning  to  you,  Senor,"  said  the  little  man  taking  off  his 
hat  and  holding  it  in  his  hand. 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Benito  Lopez,  Senor." 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"I  have  seven  years,  Senor." 

"Do  you  know  what  is  the  largest  city  in  all  the  World?" 

"Si  Senor,  Toledo." 

"And  what  is  the  largest  river  in  all  the  World?" 

"El  Tagus,  Senor." 

Then  you  told  him  to  hold  out  his  hand.  The  beggars  had. all 
the  copper  coins  and  you  put  a  piece  of  silver  in  his  pahn. 

"Now  who  is  the  richest  boy  in  Toledo?" 

When  he  saw  the  money  his  lovely  eyes  danced  with  joy  and 
with  a  charming  smile  he  answered, 

"Benito  Lopez,  Senor." 

He  looked  again  at  the  silver  piece,  closed  his  hand  firmly  upon 
it,  jumped  down  from  the  parapet  and  ran  towards  the  city  as  fast  as 

Page  One  Hundred  Ten 


wmttiMitiniiiiiniiiiniiitMiMniniiiiiitMHMiiiiimiiiiiinHnininmiimiiiimNmmnminimiiiit»niHinnH»iiHmimiiiiniiiiiiiiiitnHtiiHmtiiniitiiiniiimnimiMnimiiiin 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

•miHiiiiiMiiiiiiHtiiiMMuiiiiiiniiMiiiiininMiininiiinniiHHiiimHiiiiiiiniHtiimmNHiiHinriiiiHiiimiittHiiiiiHiminHuiHiiHuiHiHuiiHiHMiinimH«HnHiiHiiiHiHMiiMiiiMi^ 

his  little  brown,  bare  legs  could  carry  him.  When  he  reached  the  end 
of  the  bridge,  he  turned,  looked  at  us,  then  scampered  away  again, 
and  once  in  the  winding  streets  was  soon  lost  to  sight.  How  we  did 
speculate  as  to  the  reason  for  that  boy's  conduct.  Did  he  remember 
tales  he  had  heard  of  the  evil  eye?  Was  he  afraid  the  money  would 
be  taken  from  him?  Did  he  want  to  carry  it  to  his  mother?  or  show 
it  to  his  companions?  or  buy  something  at  a  shop?  We  could  only 
guess,  and  keep  guessing  but  that  boy  was  always  a  living  memory, 
more  vivid  than  anything  we  saw  in  the  desolate  city  where  he  lived. 

The  short  walk  from  the  bridge  to  the  railroad  station  was 
dusty  and  disagreeable.  We  met  two  of  the  remarkable  looking 
carts  we  had  seen  on  the  highway.  Built  very  high  with  two  clumsy 
wheels  made  from  simple  discs  of  wood,  without  a  tire  of  any  kind, 
drawn  by  small  brown  oxen,  the  yoke  fastened  to  their  horns,  and 
drawn  over  their  heads  sheep  or  goat  skins.  And  the  noise  those 
carts  made!  They  creaked  and  groaned  and  shrieked  as  so  many 
living  things!  making  their  way  slowly  along,  enveloped  in  a  cloud 
of  dust.  There  was  no  picturesqueness  in  the  drivers;  they  and  the 
oxen  belonged  to  the  soil,  and  the  unromantic  side  of  life! 

Aranjuez,  well  watered  by  the  river  Tagus  was  an  oasis  in  a 
barren  plateau.  For  centuries  it  was  the  summer  residence  of  the 
Spanish  Court.  There  were  miles  of  Royal  Park,  with  grand,  old 
Cedars  of  Lebanon,  gardens  and  fountains;  but  Royalty  had  aban- 
doned Aranjuez,  and  the  fountains  were  without  water,  and  the 
gardens  uncared  for.  There  were  three  Palaces,  and  as  we  had  time 
to  waste,  we  looked  through  each.  In  the  smallest,  the  Casa  del  Lab- 
rador— the  laborer's  house — we  found  most  of  interest.  We  counted 
fifty  clocks  in  the  Palace,  often  a  half  dozen  in  one  room.  As  you 
had  a  passion  for  clocks,  you  enjoyed  the  collection  immensely. 
Mam^  were  musical  clocks  that  played  tunes  and  airs  from  Operas, 
and  there  were  exquisitely  made  mechanical  birds  that  sang  in  a  most 
natural  and  wonderful  way. 

The  best  and  fastest  trains  in  Spain  were  invariably  run  at  night, 
and  we  were  to  take  a  train  at  midnight  on  the  main  line  of  railway 
between  Madrid  and  the  South. 

A  Spanish  gentleman  whom  we  met  in  Madrid  told  us  if  we 
wanted  a  good  dinner  at  Aranjuez,  to  go  to  the  Fonda  de  Paris,  and 
there  we  went.  A  large,  handsome  house,  and  a  waiter  all  smiles 
took  us  in  charge.  All  through  the  dinner  the  waiter  was  constantly 
suggesting  something. 

Page  One  Hundred  Eleven 


iimMuniitMtiniMriiiiiiiiiitiiiniiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiniiniiiniiiiiiiiiitiiinimnininnHniiiiiiiininiiiitHiiMinniiiiiiniiiiuiiHnniiiiniitMiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriHiiiiiniiiiiniiiiiinn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

aiiiniiuininiiiniiiiinuiininiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiHiiiimiiiiiliiililliilliiiiiiilliiiiiiiiiiiuiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiuiMiiiiiiiiinMiHiniuniiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiinniii^ 

"Had  the  Senor  ever  tasted  the  ham  of  Aranjuez?  it  was  so 
excellent. 

"Yes,  the  Senor  would  try  some. 

"And  the  cherries  of  Aranjuez  that  were  so  famous!  Could 
he  not  bring  some  to  the  Senor  and  Senora? 

"Yes  we  would  try  the  cherries  of  Aranjuez. 

Encouraged,  he  soon  began  to  bring  things  he  had  not  even 
suggested,  that  the  Senor  might  merely  taste  them. 

At  last  the  dinner  was  finished  and  the  waiter  made  out  the  bill. 
It  was  a  long  one  and  at  the  bottom  were  the  figures  "43  pesetas." 
Eight  dollars  and  sixty  cents. 

You  told  the  waiter  to  send  you  the  propietario. 

"Certeza  Senor,"  and  he  started  off  with  such  alacrity  that 
you  called  him  back  saying  to  me,  "better  settle  with  one  rascal  than 
two." 

Then  with  the  waiter  you  went  over  the  bill.  The  dinner  you 
had  ordered  including  the  wine  was  three  dollars.  The  ham  and  the 
cherries  were  charged  one  dollar  each,  leaving  three  dollars  and  a  half 
for  the  sweet  things — dulces — ^that  the  Spaniards  are  so  fond  of. 

You  paid  the  bill,  putting  aside  a  small  fee  for  the  waiter,  who 
said, 

"Oh,  Senor,  after  such  a  good  dinner!" 

You  added  something  to  it,  saying  in  English,  "You  are  an 
extortionate  rascal!"  and  he, 

"I  do  not  understand  the  Senor — if  the  Senor  would  be  kind 
enough  to  tell  me  in  Spanish — the  Senor  speaks  so  well  the  Spanish. 

With  a  "Vaya  usted  con  Dios"  to  the  Senor  and  the  Senora,  and 
the  same  bland  smiles  with  which  we  had  been  welcomed,  he  bowed 
us  out. 

As  we  walked  to  the  station  you  said,  "What  a  rascal  that 
waiter  was!  Will  the  Senor  try  this?  and  may  I  bring  the  Senor 
some  of  that?    Just  to  taste  it  Senor!" 

"And  the  Senora  often  warned  you,"  said  I. 

"Yes,  and  I  should  have  taken  her  advice,"  you  answered,  "but 
it  was  a  good  dinner." 

Soon  your  annoyance  vanished  and  we  were  laughing  over  the 
experience,  I  saying  we  would  save  the  amount  in  some  other  way; 
you  that  we  would  put  it  down  to  the  loss  account  and  forget  it. 

The  train  came  along  so  crowded  that  the  Guard  had  difficulty 

Page  One  Hundred  Twelve 


iiiiiMnniiiinHniniMiiiiiiiinniiiMnMiiiiiiiiinniiiininiiiiimiiiiiiHiiiiiiiniiiMiiiMiiiiniHiniiiHHnnimuiiiiMtnuiiiiiinrKiiiiiiiiiuiiiiniHiitiiMiuriiiiitiiiiiinrtiininiu 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

imiiiHiiiniiniinniiriniiniMiiiMMtimmiiiiiriniiiriiiiiiinitiiiiiniiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiniiniiimiiiiiiiiiinnuiimiimitiiiiiiiiiiininmnntiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiimH^ 

in  finding  two  seats  in  the  same  compartment.  An  hour  or  so  later 
you  asked,  "Are  you  awake?"  When  I  answered,  "Very  much  so," 
you  said,  "We  are  crossing  the  plain  of  La  Mancha."  Peering  out 
we  saw  a  wind-swept  desolate-looking  region,  and  the  gaunt  arms 
of  an  occasional  windmill  such  as  the  "doughty  Knight"  Don  Quixote 
was  wont  to  tilt  against. 

It  was  a  most  uncomfortable  night,  and  we  were  glad  when 
morning  dawned, — we  were  just  then  going  over  the  summit  of  the 
Sierra  Morena  Mountains,  and  until  we  reached  Cordova  at  two  in 
the  afternoon,  we  had  a  succession  of  charming  views  embracing  the 
fertile  plain  below.  Green  fields,  attractive  homes,  feathery  branches 
of  palms,  olive  and  orange  groves, — a  pretty  feature  being  the 
orchards  surrounded  by  hedges  of  cactus  abloom  in  colors  of  yellow, 
blue  and  crimson. 

It  seemed  like  another  World,  this  beautiful  land  of  Andalusia! 
Women  were  at  the  stations,  with  jars  of  water  on  their  heads, — 
you  had  one  of  them  fill  your  traveling  cup,  the  water  was  deliciously 
cool,  the  price  a  grano,  and  when  you  gave  her  five — one  cent — she 
was  greatly  pleased. 

At  Cordova  we  went  to  the  Fonda  Suiza,  a  house  that  must  have 
been  built  in  the  City's  palmy  days.  A  patio,  with  tesselated  pave- 
ment, a  fountain  and  orange  trees.  A  beautiful  marble  stair-case, 
and  at  each  landing  mosaics  of  attractive  and  varied  design. 

With  the  exception  of  a  cup  of  coif  ee  and  a  bit  of  bread,  we 
had  eaten  nothing  since  our  famous  Aranjuez  dinner,  and  hungry 
as  two  bears,  we  sat  down  to  a  comfortable  meal,  provided  for  us  by 
the  kind,  obliging  landlord  himself,  he  explaining  that  los  serviente 
were  all  off  duty.  While  we  were  disposing  of  a  generous  dish  of 
puchero,  he  made  an  excellent  salad,  which  he  brought  with  cheese, 
followed  by  dulces  in  great  variety. 

Thus  reinforced,  with  full  directions  how  to  find  our  way,  we 
started  for  the  Mosque.  The  kind  propietario  having  no  one  to  send 
with  us  offered  to  go  himself,  but  you  assured  him  that  was  not 
necessary. 

Over  a  rough,  pebbly  pavement,  through  alleys  of  high  white- 
washed houses,  and  blank  whitewashed  walls,  alleys  so  crooked  and 
winding,  so  twisted  and  turning  that  in  spite  of  your  good  bump  of 
locality,  you  were  soon  all  at  sea !  The  streets  were  deserted  save  for 
an  occasional  beggar,  and  one  of  these,  young  and  able  bodied,  you 
were  glad  to  employ,  and  found  to  your  great  disgust  that  one  more 

Page  One  Hundred  Thirteen 


iiiiiiiiniimmiiMititininMnniiniiiiiiiinininiiHtuiuiiHunniiiniiiiiniiiiiiiiuninHiinniiininniMniiiHinniiiiniiniiiiiiniiiiMiiiiniiniiniiniiiHiinnninuiMniMinnHiiMiiiniiiiMiitniHM 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

jiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiMniiinniiiiiiiiiiitiiiminiiiiiMUMiHniMiiiiniiinMiiiinHNinMininiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiniiiHitiiiiiiinMuinuiiniiiiiiiiiriiniiiiiiiiiinininiMiiiiiHiiiiiiiin 

turn  in  the   direction  you  were   constantly   pursuing   would   have 
brought  us  to  our  goal. 

Through  a  beautiful  Moorish  archway  we  went  into  the  large  and 
magnificent  Court  of  the  Oranges  where  the  life  of  the  city  seemed  to 
be.  Under  the  palms,  the  orange  trees  centuries  old,  and  tall 
cypress  trees,  men  were  playing  cards,  and  noisy  children  were  at  their 
games, — fountains  were  splashing  and  birds  singing.  It  was  a  lovely 
spot  to  linger  in  and  enjoy,  but  the  army  of  beggars  were  upon  us 
in  an  instant.  The  children  left  their  play  to  beg  in  shrill,  whining 
voices,  "Por  amor  de  Dios."  They  all  knew  that  visitors  only  went 
to  Cordova  to  see  the  Mosque,  and  there,  at  the  entrance  they  waited 
for  them. 

The  perspective  of  the  avenues  of  columns  upon  entering  the 
Mosque  was  positively  bewildering — twenty-nine  aisles  in  one  direc- 
tion and  nineteen  in  the  other.  One  thousand  columns  of  jasper, 
verd-antique,  porphyry,  and  marble  of  bright  and  varying  color; 
red,  yellow,  black,  green  and  blue,  gathered  together  from  all  parts 
of  the  World!  The  columns  varied  in  size  and  style — plain,  carved, 
fluted  and  twisted,  also  the  capitals  with  which  they  were  adorned. 
A  double  row  of  horseshoe  arches  in  red  and  black  rested  upon  the 
columns  and  upheld  the  wooden  roof  of  red  and  gold.  Several  of 
the  columns  had  grooves  in  which  bands  of  iron  had  been  fitted, 
supposedly  to  bear  the  chains  of  captives. 

The  Custodian  of  the  Mosque  was  a  pleasant  elderly  man.  He 
did  not  talk  except  to  answer  questions,  and  give  information. 

You  asked  for  the  column  with  a  cross  on  it,  said  to  have  been 
done  by  the  finger  nails  of  a  Christian  prisoner  chained  to  the  spot. 
Pointing  it  out,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  saying,  "It  could  not  be 
so,  since  a  Christian  was  never  allowed  to  enter  a  Mosque."  [Here 
let  me  say  that  you  first  learned  to  talk  in  Spanish,  and  much  of  your 
early  childhood  was  spent  with  your  parents  in  Spanish  countries. 
What  you  then  learned  soon  came  back  to  you.  Everything  that 
was  said  you  understood,  and  you  spoke  with  considerable  fluency,  a 
fact  that  added  greatly  to  our  enjoyment,  as  it  was  unusual  to  find  a 
Spaniard  speaking  any  language  but  his  own.] 

When  it  was  time  to  close  the  Mosque  we  all  went  out  together. 
We  were  glad  to  have  the  company  of  the  Custodian,  who  lived  near 
our  hotel,  and  saved  us  from  the  beggars.  We  climbed  to  the  top  of 
the  Moorish  bell  tower  for  the  view,  and  enjoyed  the  fountains  and 
fragrance  of  the  delightful  Court  of  Oranges. 

Not  far  from  the  Mosque,  the  broad,  swiftly-flowing  Guad- 

Page  One  Hundred  Fourteen 


ininiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiinHiiiiHiiHiiiiiiiiiiniHiiiimiiniitiiiniMiininiinniiniinHninniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiniiiiiiiiwiuiMiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininuiiHiii^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

4iiMnMiiiiiHiiiuiiiiinininiiiriiiiiiiniiMHiinMniHiiiMiUMiiHiiuiiiiinnMuiMMininMMnMnniMiiiinuiiinininiiiiiniiiUMnnniiiHniiiiiiinniiininiininnnuiuiiiiuiuiiiMiiiiHMiiiiim 

alquiver  river  was  crossed  by  an  old  Bridge,  built  by  the  Romans  and 
reconstructed  by  the  Moors.  At  one  end  was  an  orange-red,  battle- 
mented  picturesque  tower,  with  a  fine,  large  gateway,  through  which 
(as  we  were  looking  at  it)  two  girls  riding  donkeys  appeared,  making 
a  very  pretty  picture. 

Coming  in  from  an  after-dinner  stroll,  we  saw  a  Sereno  near  the 
hotel,  wrapped  in  his  long  cloak,  with  a  spear  on  which  hung  his 
lantern.  At  my  request  you  asked  the  landlord  if  the  Serenos  still 
called  out  the  hours  in  Cordova?    Hearing  they  did,  I  exclaimed, 

"How  perfectly  delightful  and  romantic.  Dear  Heart!  to  be  in 
Spain  and  hear  a  Sereno  call  out  the  hours  of  night,  and  tell  us  what 
the  weather  is." 

We  were  much  fatigued  and  retired  early — you  to  sleep,  and  I 
to  listen  to  the  Sereno. 

He  seemed  to  have  stationed  himself  directly  beneath  our  win- 
dow. Soon  in  a  slow,  chanting,  rather  musical  voice,  I  heard  the 
words,  "Son  las  diez" — a  long  pause,  and  then — "tiempo  sereno." 

I  wondered  how  any  one  could  sleep  when  they  might  listen  to  a 
Sereno!  A  long  hour  passed.  "Son  las  once" — pause — "tiempo 
sereno." 

Then  I  began  to  wish  the  Sereno  would  go  away  and  let  me 
sleep.    It  was  surely  more  than  an  hour  since  I  heard  his  voice. 

I  was  dropping  off,  when  I  was  roused  by  "Son  las  doce" — 
pause — "tiempo  sereno."  Midnight,  no  sleep  and  hard  work  in  store 
for  the  day.  I  dreaded  to  hear  that  hateful  voice  again,  but  I  did. 
"Es  la  una" — "tiempo  sereno." 

Whether  the  wretch  went  away,  or  whether  tired  Nature  asserted 
herself  I  do  not  know,  but  I  fell  asleep.  In  the  morning  you  asked  if 
I  had  heard  the  Sereno  through  the  night. 

"Yes  I  heard  the  Sereno"  I  answered,  and  thought  of  getting  up 
and  asking  the  landlord  to  gag  him  or  lock  him  up  in  the  cellar. 

"What!  that  delightful,  romantic  Sereno!"  you  said  with  a 
laugh.    "How  can  you  be  so  fickle?" 

After  breakfast  we  went  to  the  Mosque  and  looked  at  the  beauti- 
ful Moorish  Chapels.  In  one  the  Koran  had  been  kept.  It  had  a 
roof  carved  like  a  delicate  shell  from  a  single  piece  of  snow  white 
marble.  Adjoining  was  a  Praying  Chapel,  the  walls  and  dome  bril- 
liant with  gilding,  arabesques  and  mosaics. 

In  this  unique  edifice.  Christian  zeal  had  built  a  Cathedral.  A 
beautiful  structure,  but  we  could  only  think  of  the  five  hundred 

Page  One  Hundred  Fifteen 


«iuiuiMi>iiHi(iMHiiiHHinnntiiiHnniMiiiiiiiiNiiiiHiiHiuiiiiMiHHiMHiHiminiwuHmiimiiHniHniiHtimiHmHi»iMHiHMiminmHiHi(MNinNHMNimmimmHHmu^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

JIIIIMIIIIHinimilllUHIMIIIinilMIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIiniHIUIUIHIIIIUIMIHmHHUIIIWNtHMWIHtUIUUWIIWHIlniUUmiim(IW(HUHmHIU»IUIWWWUUHHimlUIUUUHmHI^ 

columns  that  had  been  removed  to  make  way  for  it.  We  wandered 
in  and  out  of  those  wonderful  avenues  until  it  was  time  to  say  good- 
by  to  the  Mosque  and  the  friendly  custodian. 

In  reply  to  a  question,  he  said,  yes  he  had  often  thought  of  try- 
ing his  fortune  elsewhere,  but  he  had  married  young,  and  soon,  there 
were  too  many  children  to  leave,  and  too  many  to  carry  away,  and  so 
the  time  had  passed.  All  his  sons  had  left  Cordova  and  were  doing 
well.    Gracias  a  Dios. 

We  left  Cordova  at  two  o'clock,  and  until  we  reached  Seville 
three  hours  later,  we  rode  through  a  succession  of  orchards — orange, 
lemon,  fig,  almond  and  pomegranite.  Many  of  the  trees  were  in 
blossom  on  both  sides  of  the  road  and  the  banks  were  ablaze  with  wild 
flowers.  In  wide  meadows  herds  of  bulls  were  feeding.  They  looked 
so  peaceful  and  contented  in  their  delightful  surroundings,  but  every 
one  was  doomed  to  be  tormented  and  tortured,  and  die  in  the  bull 
ring.  Men  were  at  work  in  the  orchards,  under  broad-brimmed  hats, 
with  crimson  sashes  showing  beneath  their  short  jackets  and  pretty 
homes  were  scattered  about.  It  was  a  beautiful  picture  of  peace, 
plenty  and  prosperity,  grateful  and  refreshing  to  the  senses. 

We  were  glad  to  have  seen  Toledo  and  Cordova  and  the  inter- 
esting things  they  contained  but  should  never  wish  to  visit  them 
again;  they  were  so  forlorn  and  desolate!  You  spoke  of  Rome  and 
Florence  and  Venice;  of  so  many  medieval  cities  that  belonged  to 
the  present,  as  well  as  the  past;  but  these  Spanish  cities  seemed  to 
belong  only  to  the  centuries  that  were  gone.  Toledo,  in  the  midst 
of  a  barren  country,  what  could  ever  galvanize  her  into  life?  but 
Cordova,  must  in  time  feel  the  effect  of  the  rich  and  fertile  country 
around  her! 

And  then  we  came  in  sight  of  Seville — the  Cathedral  and 
Giraldo,  and  soon  we  were  at  the  Fonda  de  Madrid.  While  you  were 
at  the  office  arranging  for  a  room,  I  took  a  survey  of  the  charming 
house.  A  succession  of  courts,  opening  one  into  another — tessel- 
lated pavements,  fountains,  marble  columns  with  galleries  above, 
palm,  orange  and  banana  trees,  and  an  immense  dining  room,  the 
walls  tiled  with  soft,  pretty  colors;  surely  "our  lines  had  fallen  in 
pleasant  places,"  I  was  saying  to  myself,  when  you  joined  me. 

There  was  but  one  room  vacant  in  the  house,  and  we  went  to 
look  at  it.  Such  a  room!  small,  shabby  and  dismal  beyond  words! 
and  the  price,  six  dollars  a  day  each!  Twelve  dollars  a  day,  for  that 
hole  of  a  room!    You  said  it  would  not  do — ^you  must  look  further. 

As  we  were  turning  away,  a  gentleman  who  had  heard  the  con- 

Page  One  Hundred  Sixteen 


«miiimniiiniMtiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiniiiMiiiiiiiiiuiiNiiiii(iiiiiiiiiiiiininiiiniiiiiiHnimiiimmiiNiiniiiiuimnmiiiiHuininniiHiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiuiinitini^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

ininniiiiiiiiiiniiMiiiiiHiniiiiiiiHiiiiiiiHiniiiiiininiuiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiniiUiiHiiniiMtNiiiiiHiHiiHiiHMiiiiinniiiiiiuHiwHnHMiininiiiiiintiiiitininniiiiiiiiiiiiiinniiinniiii^ 

versation  came  from  an  adjoining  room,  and  told  you,  it  would  be 
useless  to  look  further — that  he  had  just  been  through  the  experi- 
ence of  trying  at  other  hotels,  and  had  returned,  to  take  for  himself 
and  wife  a  room  corresponding  to  the  one  offered  us. 

In  Spain  at  that  time  a  pleasant,  comfortable  room,  at  a  first 
class  hotel  on  the  American  plan  was  three  dollars  a  day  for  each 
person,  but  this  was  Holy  Week,  and  after  Holy  Week  came  the 
great  Fair  to  which  people  flocked  from  all  parts  of  Spain,  and  prices 
for  accomodations  were  doubled  or  trebled  according  to  the  conscience 
of  the  landlord,  and  the  ability  of  the  applicant  to  pay.  I  was  dis- 
gusted but  you,  my  dearly  beloved  Philosopher,  said, 

"We  shall  only  sleep  in  the  room,  and  our  stay  will  be  short,"  so 
our  traps  were  sent  up,  and  we  were  soon  in  the  street. 

Not  far  away  was  the  Cathedral,  an  immense  structure,  soft 
reddish-brown  in  color,  standing  on  a  raised  platform,  girdled  with 
double  columns,  many  beautifully  sculptured  doors,  and  numerous 
pinnacles  and  towers  rising  from  the  open-work  parapet  of  the  roof. 

And  the  Giralda,  the  lovely  Moorish  bell  tower!  delicately  pink, 
the  lower  part  unadorned;  above,  charming  windows  and  graceful 
balconies,  marble  panels  of  arabesques,  and  traceries  of  exquisite 
Moorish  work.  A  cornice  delicate  as  lace  around  the  belfrey,  where 
hung  thirty-five  musical  bells, — several  cupolas  rising  one  above  an- 
other in  ever  diminishing  size,  until  at  a  height  of  over  300  feet  the 
lovely  creation  was  crowned  by  a  bronze  statue  of  Faith,  a  helmet 
upon  her  head,  in  one  hand  a  banner,  in  the  other  an  olive  branch; 
fifteen  feet  in  height,  weighing  twenty-eight  hundred  pounds,  yet  so 
delicately  poised  that  it  turned  with  the  lightest  breath  of  air,  and 
silhouetted  against  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky  was  always  a  delightful 
object  to  look  upon. 

We  took  a  few  turns  around  the  Court  of  the  Oranges,  inhaling 
deep  breaths  of  the  blossom  laden  air,  looked  at  the  old  fountain  and 
basin  where  the  Musselmen  washed  before  going  into  the  Mosque, 
and  where  now  men  and  women  were  filling  their  water  jars,  and 
then  away  to  see  what  we  could  of  the  streets  before  the  seven  o'clock 
dinner,  and  what  a  delight  those  Sevillian  patios  were  to  us!  We 
would  only  stand  a  moment  before  any  particular  grille,  but  we 
wandered  from  one  patio  to  another  taking  in  some  detail  at  each 
until  our  composite  picture  was  complete. 

A  court  in  the  center  of  the  building,  open  to  the  air  and  sky,  and 
separated  from  the  street  by  a  vestibule  and  an  artistic  gateway  of 
gilded  bronze  or  wrought  iron.    Running  around  three  sides,  an  orna- 

Page  One  Hundred  Seventeen 


'niMiMiiiiiniiMiiiinniiiiiMniiniiinnuiiiinMiiniMiiniiiiiiriiriiiiniiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHriiiuniiiitiiiiiiiiiiMiiHnMJrMniiiiniiiiiiniiHiiHiriHiiiniiiiiiiiiiiniiniiHiitiiMnniinniiiM 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

.niiiiiiiiiiiiiiMniinniiiiiiuniniiiiiirniiMiiMnnnnuiniinHuininiMiiiiniiiiiiiHiniiiiiiiiiHiiinHHUiNniiiHniiiiHiiiiiiininiiniHiiiiiiMiiMiunHniiiiiiiiiiiininiiHininniimiH^ 

mental  gallery,  supported  by  slender  marble  pillars  and  Moorish 
arches.  The  gallery  gave  access  to  the  rooms  above,  and  was  reached 
by  a  marble  staircase.  The  pavement  was  tesselated  in  artistic  pat- 
terns, and  in  the  center,  a  fountain  shot  its  waters  into  the  air,  and  a 
large  ornamental  basin  received  them  when  they  fell.  Bright  and 
fragrant  with  flowers,  furnished  with  rugs,  wicker  chairs  and  sofas,  a 
piano,  mandolins,  guitars  and  childrens'  toys,  and  birds  singing  in 
gilded  cages. 

During  the  heat  of  the  day  a  soft  colored  awning  cloth  was 
stretched  over  the  entire  court,  and  in  these  living  rooms,  these 
heavenly  patios,  ladies,  and  children  of  all  ages,  beautifully  dressed, 
were  enjoying  their  every  day  home  life,  and  many  a  charming  family 
picture  we  saw. 

Sitting  down  for  dinner  you  remarked  on  the  attractiveness 
of  the  room, — the  tiled  walls,  the  arabesques,  the  Moorish  arches 
and  beautiful  ceilings;  and  then  our  attention  turned  to  a  party 
of  six  taking  their  places  opposite  us.  A  large,  fine  looking  but 
rather  coarse,  middle  aged  woman,  four  young  women  and  a  young 
man.  Of  the  relationship  between  them  we  were  not  long  in  doubt, 
two  of  the  girls  and  the  young  man  calling  the  older  woman  Madre, 
and  the  two  other  girls,  Tia  or  Tia  Teresa.  The  young  ladies  were 
all  pretty,  the  daughters  particularly  so,  with  glorious  eyes,  fringed 
by  long  lashes.  They  were  a  lively  party,  talking  and  laughing 
continuously. 

They  stared  at  us  and  discussed  us  with  the  greatest  freedom.  I 
asked  you  what  they  were  saying.  You  answered  that  they  were 
divided  in  opinion  as  to  whether  we  were  English  or  American. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  understand  that,  but  what  else?" 

"They  are  wondering  where  we  come  from,"  then  you  laughed, 
"now  they  are  making  complimentary  remarks  about  our  appearance, 
— now  they  are  discussing  your  hair,  which  they  all  think  very 
pretty." 

The  mother  had  a  slight  cold,  or  a  habit,  and  frequently  during 
the  dinner  took  out  her  handkerchief  and  blew  her  nose  with  the 
sound  of  a  trumpet. 

As  at  Madrid  the  men  smoked  between  every  course,  and  after 
the  dinner  was  over,  our  vis-a-vis  produced  a  beautiful  box,  out  of 
which  each  girl  took  a  cigarette  and  a  tiny  gold  pincers, — one  end  of 
a  delicate  chain  was  attached  to  the  pincers  and  to  the  other  end  a 
ring  which  was  worn  on  the  little  finger, — all  the  girls  smoked  their 
one  cigarette  held  by  the  little  pincers  in  a  dainty,  pretty,  graceful 

Page  One  Hundred  Eighteen 


iiiiiiHiiiiMiiuiiiiinHnrnniunnniiinniiuiiiiMiNiiiinHiiMiniinniiiiiriiuininiiiiiiJiirMiriiiiHnNiiinniiinniiininiiirnnHiHiniinniiiiiiNininiunniiMiiinHiiniiiMiiiininitiiiimin 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

aiNiiiMuiiiuiiMiiiiiuiMMnuMiniiNiiiniMiininiuiiiiHiijiniHiMiHiiiiiiiiinMiuiiiniiiitniiiniiiiiNiMMiHniin(iiiiniuMininininiMnnHiiniriitHiniiinHMiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiHiiiiinninnin^ 

way;  but  the  mother!  oh  the  mother!  The  number  of  cigarettes  she 
smoked!  and  the  way  she  smoked  them!  taking  in  the  smoke  in  a 
long  deep  breath,  and  expeUing  it  slowly  from  her  nose. 

"It  is  worth  the  price  of  the  room,"  said  I,  clasping  your  hand 
under  the  table. 

We  went  to  the  court  for  coffee  and  your  one-a-day  cigar.  That 
finished,  we  strolled  through  the  crowded  streets,  looked  at  the  shop 
windows,  and  the  people,  but  it  was  peeping  into  the  patios  that 
fascinated  us  most.  The  light  from  many  soft  colored  lamps  hang- 
ing from  the  galleries  made  them  look  more  than  ever  like  fairyland, 
and  the  presence  of  gentlemen  added  to  the  liveliness.  Smoking, 
singing  and  dancing  were  going  on  in  all.  Young  men  thrumming 
guitars  were  lounging  in  the  streets  and  paying  visits.  We  saw 
several  groups  of  two  or  three,  enter  a  vestibule,  play  and  sing,  and 
when  heard  and  recognized,  one  of  the  gates  would  open  and  every 
one  in  the  patio  greet  them  warmly.  As  the  night  wore  on  the  ani- 
mation increased  and  it  was  nearing  midnight  when  we  turned  to- 
wards the  hotel. 

On  the  morning  of  Holy  Thursday  we  went  to  the  Cathedral. 
The  vast  interior  was  but  dimly  lighted  by  the  one  hundred  windows 
of  old  stained  glass.  Groups  of  enormous  columns  supported  the 
arches  of  the  vaulted  roofs.  Two  immense  organs  with  pipes  so 
gigantic  that  they  were  compared  to  the  columns  of  Fingal's  Cave. 
On  the  choir  stalls  elaborate  wood  carving  of  men  and  grotesque 
animals.  Chapels  filled  with  tombs  and  statues  in  wood,  marble,  silver 
and  crystal ;  among  the  pictures  were  two  by  Murillo  of  great  beauty, 
and  in  the  Sacristy,  Murillo  at  his  own  request  was  buried. 

In  the  Royal  Chapel  lay  St.  Ferdinand,  canonized — it  was  said — 
because  with  his  own  hands  he  had  carried  wood  and  heaped  it  upon 
the  flames  where  heretics  were  burning.  His  war  horse  was  there,  and 
a  remarkable  image — the  Divinity  of  the  Chapel,  with  hair  of  spun 
gold,  sapphires  forming  the  pupils  of  her  eyes,  a  long  mantle  of  cloth 
of  gold,  and  at  her  feet  a  carved  silver  carcophagus  in  which  St. 
Ferdinand  reposed. 

In  this  Chapel,  the  walls,  and  pillars  supporting  the  dome  were 
hidden  beneath  hangings  of  brocade  richly  embroidered  with  gold; 
and  there  had  been  erected  a  wonderful  creation  in  which,  the  previ- 
ous day,  the  Host — called  in  Spain  Su  Majestad — had  been  placed. 
It  was  a  tapering  temple,  white  and  gold,  with  pinnacles  topped  by 
Apostles  and  Saints  in  silver,  and  ablaze  from  top  to  bottom  with  the 
light  of  hundreds  of  silver  and  jeweUed  lamps,  and  a  multitude  of. 

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iiiMHNHiwiuiiuimiiiininninHiniuniiitiiiiinMinmiiiiiiiiuniniiiiniiniHiiiinMiiiuiimiuMiiHnimimiiiiiinriiiiHMiiiiniiiHMMHHmiiiiiiiiiiuHirmm 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

AiiiniiitiiHiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiniiiiiinHuiiiinuiiinniiiiiiiiiHiiHiiiiiiiHiniiinimiiniiinuiHiiiiHniniiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiHiiiiHiiiiitiiiiiuiMiiiiHHnMiHiiiiiiniiiMuiH 

tapers.     Before  this  monument  kneeling  for  a  moment,  a  constant 
stream  of  people  were  coming  and  going. 

Turning  from  the  Chapel  we  saw  the  Archbishop  in  purple  robe, 
a  mitre  on  his  head,  the  crozier  and  cross  borne  before  him,  just  leav- 
ing the  Cathedral  and  followed  by  the  twelve  beggars  representing 
the  Apostles,  whose  feet  he  had  washed.  The  lucky  twelve  wore  new 
clothes  and  smiling  faces  and  were  to  have  a  mid-day  meal  in  the 
Archbishop's  Palace. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  of  Holy  Thursday  the  pasos  began  to 
appear,  in  large  numbers  on  the  streets.  The  pasos  are  the  great 
feature  of  the  religious  ceremonies  in  Seville  during  Holy  Week. 
They  belong  to  the  different  Brotherhoods  of  the  churches,  and  the 
guilds, — the  cigarette  makers,  the  olive  and  fruit  industries,  silver 
smiths,  bull  fighters,  and  others.  The  bull  fighters  had  the  reputation 
of  being  not  only  deeply  religious,  but  very  domestic,  making  the 
most  exemplary  husbands  and  fathers. 

Great  rivalry  existed  between  the  different  societies  for  the  best 
paso.  Money  was  lavishly  spent,  and  often  historical  facts  and  ap- 
propriateness, completely  lost  sight  of.  A  few  were  tawdry,  many 
fine,  and  many  splendid.  They  consisted  of  life  size  wooden  figures 
clothed  according  to  the  fancy  and  means  of  the  Brotherhood  to 
which  they  belonged,  and  represented  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  scenes 
in  the  life  and  death  of  Christ.  The  faces  were  tinted,  and  the  heads 
that  were  uncovered  had  an  abundant  supply  of  real  hair.  Some  of 
ihe  figures  were  made  by  Montanes,  a  famous  Sevillian  sculptor,  in 
the  17th  century  and  were  very  valuable.  These,  and  many  others, 
had  wonderful  expression  in  their  faces.  The  figures,  single  or  in 
groups,  were  placed  upon  a  platform  covered  by  black  velvet  that 
hung  to  the  ground,  and  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  men,  hidden 
from  view,  the  number  varying  from  ten  to  thirty,  according  to  the 
weight  they  bore.  Each  paso  was  accompanied  by  the  Brotherhood 
to  which  it  belonged,  robed  in  great  variety  of  picturesque  costume 
and  carrying  candles  that  were  lighted  while  it  was  still  day, — at  the 
beginning  of  the  march  the  large  candles  were  so  tall  that  when  the 
procession  halted  and  they  were  rested  upon  the  ground  they  reached 
to  the  bearer's  shoulders. 

Commencing  with  the  afternoon  of  Holy  Thursday  all  through 
that  night  and  all  day  on  Friday  the  great  pageant  had  complete 
possession  of  the  City,  and  during  that  time  no  vehicle  of  any  kind 
was  allowed  upon  the  streets  and  no  bell  permitted  to  ring. 

From  all  over  the  City  the  pasos  came.    The  line  of  march  was 

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wmiHtiiMitiMiHiiniiniiniuniiiinniiiiHMiniiiniiniiuiiiiiHiMiiiiiiiiiuiiinininimimnnnnnunHHuiiHiMniiiniiiiiiiniiwiiiniiiMiiHiiiiiMiiiuiitHiHHHHiHHiitiHiniiiiiiini 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

jniMiuiNniMiniiMuiiiiinniiniiMMiiniinniiiiiMiHniiiiniiinniiiiiiuiiiiiiinittiuiiintmiiHiiMniiiimiMuuuniiiiiMiiininniiimiiiimiitiiuiiiiminiiiHiiHiiiniinii^ 

through  squares  where  seats  had  been  erected,  past  the  City  Hall 
where  the  Mayor — Alcade — sat,  through  the  Cathedral  to  salute  the 
Host,  then  back  to  their  respective  homes  to  disband, — ^long  weary 
Hnes  of  march  many  of  them  must  have  had. 

About  three  o'clock  we  heard  a  blare  of  trumpets  and  strains  of 
music  and  soon  the  procession  came  in  sight, — a  troop  of  cavalry  in 
brilliant  uniforms,  mounted  on  beautiful  white  horses  with  gay  trap- 
pings, Roman  soldiers  in  shining  armor,  waving  plumes  upon  their 
helmets,  spears,  and  standards  with  the  letters  S.  P.  Q.  R.  glittering 
in  the  sun. 

The  first  paso  was  the  Virgin,  the  face  was  full  of  beauty  and 
tenderness, — a  crown  set  with  precious  stones  rested  on  the  head  and 
flowing  golden  hair, — exquisite  lace  formed  all  the  front  of  her 
robe,  and  from  the  shoulders  fell  a  long  train  of  black  velvet  em- 
broidered with  golden  lilies,  upheld  by  two  lovely  children  beautifully 
dressed, — around  her  throat  were  strings  of  pearls, — ^many  jewels 
sparkled  from  her  corsage,  from  rings  upon  her  fingers  and  from 
bracelets  upon  her  wrists, — her  attendants  were  boys  dressed  in  white, 
swinging  censers  of  burning  incense,  and  white  robed  choristers 
chanting  with  clear,  strong,  young  voices, — the  platform  was  lighted 
by  many  tapers,  and  loaded  with  fragrant  flowers. 

Next  came  a  tableau  of  Christ  before  Pilate.  Pilate  seated  on  a 
throne,  splendidly  attired  and  wearing  costly  gems, — Christ  a  pris- 
oner, surrounded  by  a  guard  of  Roman  soldiers.  A  most  eff*ective 
tableau.  The  attendant  Brotherhood  were  Roman  soldiers  in  scarlet 
tunics,  white  plumed  helmets,  and  silver  shields.  The  float  was  so 
heavy  that  the  men  could  only  carry  it  a  hundred  feet,  and  would  then 
take  a  rest.  Impatient  at  the  snail's  pace  of  the  procession,  impatient 
also  to  see  the  diff*erent  pasos  we  left  our  seats,  mingled  with  the 
crowd  and  made  our  way  slowly  along  the  line. 

All  the  story  of  the  Passion  over  and  over  again, — often  passing 
with  solemn  music,  muffled  drums  or  blare  of  trumpets.  The  pasos 
of  Christ  bearing  the  cross  were  often  remarkable.  In  one  the  cross 
was  tortoise  shell  and  silver,  in  another  ebony  and  gold. 

There  were  many  floats  of  great  simplicity  and  tenderness  show- 
ing the  Virgin  in  a  robe  and  mantle  of  tender  blue,  with  fair  hair 
falling  over  her  shoulders,  as  Murillo  painted  her  in  his  Immaculate 
Conceptions. 

Simplicity  however  was  not  a  characteristic  of  the  Virgin, — most 
of  them  were  elaborately  dressed  wearing  long  mantles  costing  thou- 
sands of  dollars  and  sparkling  with  jewelry  and  precious  stones. 

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4HniiiiiiiiHiiwruiniiiiiiiMiiMiitinitiiMriiinruiiMnriiiiHntiniiriiiHHmnininininiiiiiiiiMniiiMriiiiniiiiniiniiniiHMiiniiiiiunniiHHimiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiniiiiiiiMHuiniiininiHiii^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

»niimiiiiuniiniiiiMuniiiiiiiinniininiiiniiMnriiiniiMiiHnnniitiiniiiiiHiiiiiuiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiniiiiiuiinniiiHiuiMtriiinniiinnmniniiHniiHiiiiniiiiiiiHiiinH 

Some  wore  the  priceless  jewels  of  the  mothers  and  wives  of  a  par- 
ticular Brotherhood  loaned  for  the  occasion  and  watched  over  by  a 
detachment  of  the  Civil  Guard.  The  societies  that  could  not  afford 
beautiful  clothing  and  costly  jewelry  tricked  their  Virgins  out  in 
gaudy  imitation  of  the  genuine;  but  there  were  always  the  flowers 
and  lights — the  cloud  of  incense  and  music,  and  borne  before  her  a 
banner  with  the  title  of  what  she  represented  to  the  Brotherhood.  Our 
Lady  of  Refuge — of  Mercy — of  Hope — of  Tears — of  Solitude — of 
Victory  were  the  names  most  often  accorded  her. 

The  bull  fighters'  yaso  represented  a  plain  crucifixion  and  the 
Virgin,  simply  dressed  in  white,  under  a  canopy  of  black  velvet  em- 
broidered with  gold.  The  Brotherhood  wore  small  black  velvet  caps, 
black  velvet  robes,  and  broad  yellow  belts  gleaming  with  gold  thread. 

After  dinner  we  went  to  the  Cathedral  where  we  found  a  great 
throng,  to  hear  Eslava's  miserere.  The  music  was  beautiful.  Rendered 
by  trained  voices  of  men  and  boys,  a  full  orchestra,  and  the  rich 
tones  of  the  two  organs. 

"That  was  a  rare  treat,"  you  said,  when  it  was  over. 

The  procession  of  pasos,  lighted  up  by  candles  and  torches,  mov- 
ing weirdly  through  the  dim  aisles,  rested  while  the  miserere  was 
being  sung  and  then  again  took  up  the  line  of  march. 

All  through  the  night  of  Holy  Thursday  the  procession  marched. 
The  streets  were  thronged  with  people,  and  the  seats  in  the  plazas 
occupied.  We  sat  until  after  midnight  watching  the  unique  spectacle. 
There  was  no  moon,  only  starlight  overhead,  and  defects,  bared  by 
the  light  of  day  were  hidden.  All  gems  were  real  and  all  stones 
precious,  in  that  pageant  of  Holy  Thursday  night.  The  burning 
candles  and  tapers  and  torches,  the  flowers,  the  banners,  the  music, — 
the  slowly  moving  figures — the  Virgin  ablaze  with  glittering  gems, 
the  pathetic  face  of  the  Saviour, — ^the  mail-clad  Roman  soldiers,  the 
caps  and  tunics  of  blue,  scarlet  and  purple,  the  white  plumed  helmets, 
the  spears,  the  shields  of  gold  and  silver,  all  blended  into  a  memory 
that  has  never  faded  away. 

When  we  left  our  seats  about  one  o'clock  we  found  about  the 
stand,  pots  of  boiling  oil  in  which  long  strips  of  twisted,  sweetened 
dough  were  being  fried. 

"Crullers,  my  Dear,"  said  I,  "they  are  really  crullers."  although 
they  were  being  cried  out  as  "calientes,  calientes."  The  men  and 
women  about  the  pots  were  doing  a  thriving  business  and  we  had  to 
wait  our  turn;  then  with  a  caliente  in  each  hand  we  walked  to  the 

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iHiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiimnMiHiiHiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiutniniiiuiriniiiiHiiiniiiniiiimHiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiHMHiiiiiiiMimiiiiiriiniiuiniiiHiiiriiiriiiiimiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiin 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

'iiiuiiiiiiniiiiiiiiuminMirMiininiHiMniiunMMiMiiiNHurKiiMHiiniiiMiiiiiinHimiiiiiiiiiiiHHiHiiriHiiHiiHMMiininiMiiiiirHirniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnMiiiuiiiinniiiMininMiiiinnniininiirMi^ 

hotel  eating  on  the  way.  Very  tired  and  very  happy  we  went  to  our 
shabby,  little  room  and  crept  under  our  mosquito  nettings,  glad  of  a 
place  to  rest. 

During  Holy  Week,  everything  was  closed,  and  it  was  only  by 
hunting  up  custodians,  and  persuading  them  to  open  doors,  that  we 
could  have  access  to  any  of  the  housed  sights  of  the  City.  At  the 
Columbian  Library — adjoining  the  Cathedral — carefully  preserved 
in  a  glass  case,  we  saw  the  journals  of  Columbus,  and  a  well-thumbed 
copy  of  The  Travels  of  Marco  Polo,  which  Columbus  always  carried 
on  his  voyages,  and  which,  first  suggested  to  him  the  probable  exist- 
ence of  a  New  World.  The  book  was  so  opened  that  four  pages 
could  be  seen,  and  around  every  page  were  marginal  notes  made  by 
Columbus'  own  hand. 

That  afternoon  we  went  to  the  beautiful  Alcazar.  The  outer 
walls  and  towers  of  the  plainest  description,  but  once  through  the 
horse  shoe  arch,  a  Palace  of  beauty  indescribable.  Spacious  courts 
with  plashing  fountains,  surrounded  by  pillars  of  rare  marbles  and 
graceful  arches.  Splendid  rooms,  the  walls  brilliant  with  color,  and 
the  most  delicate,  lace-like  ornamentation  in  traceries  of  vines,  flow- 
ers, arabesques  and  inscriptions  from  the  Koran.  Overhead,  ceilings 
gorgeous  with  gold  and  vivid  color. 

The  terraced  gardens  back  of  the  Palace  were  lovely;  fountains 
and  flowers,  blossoming  orange  and  lemon  trees,  hedges  of  myrtle  and 
mazes  of  box,  in  one  of  which  we  lost  our  way  and  wandered  for  a 
long  time  before  you  found  the  clue  that  helped  us  out ;  and  we  came 
upon  a  little  thicket  of  tall  bushes  laden  with  fragrant  flowers — the 
old-fashioned  roses  of  Castile.  Those  bushes  carried  us  back  to  my 
old  home,  and  we  talked  of  Mother's  rose  hush,  the  simple,  little 
history  of  which  you  knew  so  well, — how  as  a  bride,  my  Mother  had 
carried  with  her  to  her  new  home  a  cutting  from  her  favorite  rose 
bush, — had  chosen  a  place  in  the  garden  where  my  Father  planted 
it,  and  there  it  grew,  and  thrived. 

Children  came.  They  grew,  and  thrived  and  learned  in  turn  the 
story  of  the  rose  bush,  and  after  a  time  rivalry  sprang  up,  each  want- 
ing to  be  the  one  to  carry  the  first  rose  of  the  summer  to  Mother 
from  her  hush.  How  we  watched  the  buds  from  day  to  day,  and  then 
after  some  warm  June  night,  the  first  one  up  and  out  in  the  morn- 
ing, found  an  open  Castilian  rose  to  carry  to  Mother. 

Back  of  the  Palace  gardens  in  a  small  plaza  we  saw  the  shop  of 
Figaro,  the  Barber  of  Seville. 

The  Calle  de  las  Sierpes — ^the  street  of  the  serpents — was  always 

Page  One  Hundred  Twenty-three 


«iiiiiiinHniiniiinniiiiiiiniiiMitiiiinMiiii[iiniiNiniiiiiiniiiniiiiiuiniiiiininiiiiiHiiiiiHiiiiinHnmiHiiHiiHHiiiiiiuiiiiiiuuniiiniiiuiuiinniiiiiiiiiniiHiiiimiiiiiHHH^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiinMiiiinuiiiiiiiniimiiiiiiiniMiiiiiniiiiMiuiiiinniiMiHiuuiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiinHiiiumHMiiiiimiiuiiuHiuituMMiuiMuiiiiiHiiiuiiuiiMiiuuiuHiiuwiiwiiiuiHiw^ 

a  delightful  place  to  wander  in,  by  day  or  night.  A  narrow,  winding 
street,  barred  by  posts  against  all  vehicles,  and  lined  with  shops,  cafes 
and  clubs.  Over  the  roofs  of  the  lofty  houses,  an  awning  stretched 
across  the  street,  keeping  out  the  fierce  rays  of  the  sun.  (Seville 
called  "the  oven  of  Spain"  was  like  an  oven  that  mid  April  when  we 
were  first  there). 

The  shop  windows  were  full  of  pretty  things.  Crepe  shawls 
with  long  fringe,  water  color  pictures  of  dancing  girls  and  fans  in 
great  variety, — some  of  lace,  some  hand  painted  in  lovely  designs 
with  jewelled  sticks  and  precious  stones,  and  gaudy  fans  with  scenes 
from  the  bull  ring. 

It  was  a  relief  on  Friday  evening  to  have  the  clumsy  pasos  dis- 
appear from  the  streets.  Towards  the  end  the  Brotherhoods  lagged, 
weary  and  worn,  and  even  the  Virgins,  with  tapers  burned  out, 
flowers  faded,  and  drooping  banners,  looked  in  need  of  rest. 

Our  portly  vis-a-vis  and  her  party  continued  to  amuse  and  enter- 
tain us  at  table.  On  the  third  evening  after  staring  at  us  and  dis- 
cussing us  the  mother  leaned  across  the  table  towards  you,  with 
"Americano,  Senor?" 

"Si  Sefiora,  Americano,"  you  answered. 

She  said  they  were  all  from  Malaga;  that  Malaga  was  the 
liveliest  city  in  Spain, — then  she  asked  where  your  home  was,  and 
when  you  told  her  "San  Francisco,  Senora"  she  raised  her  eyebrows 
and  repeated  the  words  in  such  a  way  that  we  knew  our  home  city 
had  no  place  on  her  limited  geographical  map.  After  that  she  always 
offered  us  cigarettes  from  her  box,  I  declining  with  thanks,  and 
you  taking  one  to  be  polite,  and  chatting  with  her  while  you 
smoked  it. 

The  gentleman,  who  with  his  wife  occupied  the  small  shabby 
room  adjoining  ours,  was  an  agent  for  several  raisin  shipping  con- 
cerns, had  been  frequently  in  New  York,  spoke  English  fluently, 
was  agreeable,  and  wanted  to  be  sociable,  but  his  wife  would  not 
allow  it.  She  was  exceedingly  plain  and  exceedingly  disagreeable. 
One  day  he  introduced  her  to  us,  but  the  only  return  our  bows 
brought  was  a  stony  stare. 

"Wife  beating  ought  to  prevail  in  Spain,  and  that  woman  ought 
to  have  a  husband  who  practised  it,"  said  I  later. 

When  the  bete  noire  was  not  around,  he  did  manage  to  have  many 
a  chat  with  us.  He  told  us  the  lady  who  sat  opposite  us  at  table  was 
a  Countess — that  the  Count,  her  husband,  had  died,  leaving  her  a  vast 
estate,  mostly  in  vineyards;  that  she  gave  personal  supervision  to  the 

Page  One  Hundred  Twenty-four 


MIUIHHHHimilUHNHHIHHIUIIHIIIHIHIMIimiliniliniliniNIIIHUUNIIimHmiHmiNHIHIimHIIHHIIMUIHimillHUnilHHIIIHIIMnilimilHIIIIIIIIWIIHimHIIIHimiHnilmnilllllUII^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

mHHiiuHiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiitiiiMiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiHiHiimiiiiiMHniiuiiuiiiiMiiiHHUiimiwuiMiiiNmiHWiHiiHHiiiNmuiitNiiiiintiiiHiiumiiHmiiniiHiNiitmi^ 

industry,  and  that  the  raisins  made  upon  her  place,  were  among  the 
best  shipped  from  Malaga. 

Saturday  morning,  Mass  at  the  Cathedral.  Hundreds  of  men 
and  women  were  there,  kneeling  and  sitting  on  the  floor ;  men  of  title 
and  wealth,  laboring  men,  beggars,  male  and  female,  veiled  nuns, 
women  of  the  poor,  and  elegant  women  in  black  lace  mantillas,  the 
jewels  on  their  fingers  flashing  in  the  dim  light,  as  they  languidly 
fanned  themselves. 

Through  the  week  a  purple  veil  had  hung  before  the  High  Altar 
from  the  vaulted  roof  to  the  floor.  As  the  Mass  progressed  a  small 
but  brilliant  procession  left  the  Royal  Chapel.  At  the  head,  walked 
the  Archbishop,  a  stately,  richly  robed  figure,  carrying  a  jewelled 
vessel  that  contained  the  Host.  As  the  High  Altar  was  reached, 
came  the  elevation^  and  with  the  suddenness  of  a  flash  of  lightning, 
a  volume  of  sound,  startling  and  thrilling  in  its  intensity,  rolled  and 
reverberated  through  the  Cathedral.  A  sharp  discharge  of  firearms, 
an  immense  chorus  of  voices,  the  thunder  of  the  two  great  organs,  a 
full  and  splendid  orchestra,  the  pealing  of  the  Giralda  bells,  all 
blended  together  like  the  crash  of  one  vast  instrument ;  and  the  purple 
veil  was  rent  in  twain  and  disappeared! 

The  High  Altar  looked  very  beautiful  with  its  exquisite  wood 
carving  portraying  scenes  in  the  life  and  death  of  Christ.  Light 
was  thrown  upon  the  wonderful  lifelike  figures  in  a  most  efl'ective 
and  picturesque  way,  by  groups  of  beautiful  boys  about  ten  years  of 
age;  three  in  each  group,  dressed  in  scarlet,  standing  on  platforms 
one  above  another,  holding  silver  candlesticks  (representing  Angels 
with  shining  outstretched  wings)  in  which  candles  were  burning. 

With  the  "rending  of  the  veil,"  the  ceremonies  of  Holy  Week 
were  at  an  end,  and  the  City  resumed  its  normal  condition.  Cabs  and 
carriages  began  at  once  to  circulate  in  the  streets,  clocks  struck  the 
hours  all  over  the  town,  and  the  "silver  throated  Giralda  bells," 
chimed  out  the  passing  time  every  fifteen  minutes. 

In  the  afternoon  we  visited  the  Government  tobacco  manufac- 
tory, a  large,  handsome  building.  The  interior  was  divided  into  four 
immense  rooms,  that  held  rows  of  long  tables,  and  in  each  room, 
seated  at  the  tables  from  eight  hundred  to  a  thousand  women  and 
girls  were  making  cigars  and  rolling  cigarettes.  The  ceiling  was  low, 
and  the  air  close  and  stifling.  There  were  many  pretty  faces,  but 
nearly  all  were  shabbily  dressed,  the  garments  they  wore  in  coming 
and  going  hanging  on  nails  around  the  walls.  Nearly  all  the  girls 
had  before  her  in  a  glass  of  water,  a  rose  or  carnation  to  pin  to  her 

Page  One  Hundred  Twenty-five 


liiiiiiniHiiniHMiiiiinniiiiininiinMMiMnHiniMnnniiiiiimitiiniiiuininiiminiiniriiiiiiiiMHMuiiinniiiHniirniMnniniiiiiiiHiniiiiiinuMiinMniiniiiiinitMiMiHiiniiuHnMininnni^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiMiniiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiHiHiHiiiiMiiiiiiiiiimiiiumimiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiinniHiiiiiiMiiiHininiiMiiniiiiniiiiiuiiu 

hair  before  going  into  the  street.  Now  and  then  walking  between 
the  long  rows  we  came  upon  a  pretty,  young  creature  who  wore  her 
attractive  gown,  instead  of  hanging  it  up,  and  had  a  flower  in  her 
hair  and  a  fresh  one  beside  her  to  wear  in  going  home.  Poor,  young 
beings!  some  had  the  appealing  look  of  a  fawn  in  their  soft,  brown 
eyes,  some  were  coquettish,  and  some  with  flashing  black  eyes  were  of 
the  dare-devil  class!  Some  women  worked  with  babies  on  their  laps, 
and  lying  on  the  floor  along  the  wall  were  babies  galore. 

At  the  Museum  we  saw  some  beautiful  pictures  of  Murillo,  and 
at  La  Caridad — a  small  hospital  for  the  sick  and  poor — his  two 
famous  pictures.  The  Miracle  of  the  Loaves  and  Fishes,  and  Moses 
Smiting  the  Rock.  Such  wonderful  pictures !  The  Institution  was  in 
charge  of  Sisters  of  Charity,  and  how  the  Sister  that  showed  us  the 
treasures  did  love  them!  and  how  enthusiastically  you  two  talked  of 
their  beauty!  Dear,  good  Soul!  with  her  pleasant  face  and  soft  voice, 
we  noticed  that  she  had  a  smile  and  a  friendly  word  for  every  poor 
pensioner  that  we  passed. 

The  Andalusian  dances  we  saw  that  Saturday  night  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  the  bete  noire's  husband — at  a  queer  old  theater  called  the 
Novodades — were  ever  after  a  delightful  memory.  The  girls  were  all 
young  and  pretty,  their  costumes  charming  and  their  dancing  grace- 
ful and  bewitching.  Two  particularly  lovely  girls,  their  skirts  a 
golden  gleam,  white  lace  mantillas  falling  from  their  heads  and  over 
their  shoulders,  a  yellow  rose  in  the  hair,  danced  the  cachuca  to  the 
music  of  their  castanets.  They  were  a  dream  of  grace  and  beauty! 
In  the  bolero,  young  men  danced  with  the  girls.  It  was  a  lively, 
graceful  dance  given  with  great  abandon.  The  young  men  were  as 
picturesque  as  the  girls,  with  short  jackets,  wide  crimson  sashes  em- 
broidered trousers  ending  at  the  knees,  silk  stockings  and  low  shoes. 
One  dance  was  unique.  A  handsome  young  woman  beautifully 
dressed,  a  bright  shawl  with  long  fringe  around  her  shoulders.  In 
her  swaying  graceful  movements  with  uplifted  arms,  the  shawl,  two 
ends  of  which  she  held  in  her  hands  played  an  efl'ective  part.  There 
was  no  music,  only  the  marking  of  time  by  the  rhythmic  stamping  of 
feet  and  clapping  of  hands  by  the  large  audience. 

The  performance  ended  with  gypsy  dances,  where  only  the 
muscles  of  the  body  danced.  The  girls  were  pretty,  but  their  dancing 
was  neither  graceful  nor  pleasant  to  see.  It  called  to  your  mind  the 
couplet, 

"What  can't  be  said  can  be  sung. 
And  what  can't  be  sung  can  be  done." 

Page  One  Hundred  Twenty-six 


tiuiiiiUHinniniiiMMiiiiMnniniiniiiiiMiniininiiinMniinniiiininiiiiHirninniiiMMiiniiiiinniiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiinHriiiiininiiimniniiinniinuiiHiininiiHiiiiniHiiiiuiiiiiiiMuiMMiiMinriiitiiu 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiiiiiiiHiiMNinMuniniiiMiniiiniiiiiniMiHiMfiiiiiMiiuniniiNiiuiiiiiiiiinmiiiiiiiiriiiiHiiiiiiiininiuiniiniHiiiiiuiniiiiHniiiiinuiiiHiiiHHHniiniiniiMHniinnHiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiu 

Easter  Mass  at  the  Cathedral  was  very  briUiant;  all  the  riches 
and  treasures  of  the  Church  being  brought  out  and  displayed  at  that 
time.  The  swinging  censers  were  of  gold.  In  a  beautiful  wrought 
iron  screen  beside  the  High  Altar,  in  groups  of  three,  the  golden 
Mass  bells  hung,  and  frequently  throughout  the  service  rang  out  their 
joyous  peal.  On  the  opposite  side  the  Paschal-candle  burned;  the 
candle-stick  of  chisseled  bronze  twenty-five  feet  in  height,  the  candle 
containing  one  ton  and  a  quarter  of  perfumed  wax. 

In  the  choir  stalls  there  was  a  glow  of  crimson  and  scarlet  and 
all  the  vestments  were  rich  and  beautiful.  Kneeling  on  the  floor, 
dressed  in  white  with  white  lace  mantillas  on  their  heads  were  hun- 
dreds of  women. 

It  was  a  brilliant  and  beautiful  sight  but  the  joy  of  the  service 
to  us  was  in  the  glorious  music;  all  through  the  Mass  the  tuneful 
voices  of  boy  choristers  in  the  organ  lofts  had  been  heard,  and  with 
the  Gloria  in  Excelsis  those  clear  young  voices  were  joined  by  a  great 
chorus  in  a  burst  of  joyous  song,  accompanied  by  many  violins,  and 
the  deep  rich  tones  of  the  two  organs. 

When  we  were  making  our  plans  for  Spain,  you  said,  "I  sup- 
pose we  shall  have  to  see  a  bull  fight;  everybody  does."  We  talked  it 
over  and  agreed  that  we  should  probably  find  it  harrowing,  but  being 
in  Spain  it  was  the  natural  and  proper  thing  to  do. 

At  Easter,  all  through  the  Peninsula  the  bull  fights  for  the 
season  commence.  The  first  performance  brings  out  the  exclusive 
set,  just  as  a  first  night  of  Grand  Opera,  or  the  opening  performance 
at  a  theater  does  with  us. 

At  two  in  the  afternoon  we  left  the  hotel  with  a  large  party  in  a 
shabby  omnibus  drawn  by  four  horses,  provided  by  the  landlord  at 
an  excessive  charge  for  each  guest.  The  city  had  taken  on  a  festive 
appearance.  Flags  waved  from  housetops,  silk  and  velvet  draperies 
hung  from  balconies.  The  streets  were  crowded  with  people,  and 
the  road  from  the  city  to  the  Plaza  del  Toros  was  a  study.  Push 
carts  loaded  with  children,  cabs,  market  wagons,  and  fantastic  vehicles 
all  crowded  to  their  utmost  capacity,  drawn  by  mules  or  donkeys 
driven  abreast  or  tandem  with  the  drivers  on  their  backs. 

Thousands  of  men  and  women  were  walking  (the  women  often 
carrying  babies  in  their  arms)  and  in  the  midst  of  this  motley,  pro- 
miscuous throng  were  private  carriages,  sometimes  one  or  two,  some- 
times a  string  of  a  dozen  or  more ;  carriages  with  crests  on  the  panels, 
servants  in  handsome  livery,  and  filled  with  gentlemen  and  beautiful 

Page  One  Hundred  Twentj'Seven 


»HnimiHiimiM»HiiwmiiHttmnHmiiiHHmHiiHmmMiiiiiHiiiw»iiiMiHniimwtHiMmiiHiHminniHiwiMiiiminiiiiiiHmiHitmM»MiwnmtiiMmiHMMimitiMMHniiiiinitiMWHwmi^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

winuuiiiiiiniMiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiitiiiiiininniiiiMiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiMMiiiuiiiiiimuiiiniiiriimiiinHiiiiniiiiiiimnimmiiiiiiiiiiiiiuniiiiiiiiiiuiHiiiiiHHHiHnimiiiu^ 

ladies,  exquisitely  dressed,  their  white  lace  mantillas  and  flashing 
jewels  contrasting  strangely  with  their  surroundings. 

Inside  the  large  building  tiers  of  seats  rose  one  above  another 
like  a  Roman  amphitheater  and  opposite  the  entrance  to  the  ring 
were  the  private  boxes.  Before  the  hour  of  three,  when  the  perform- 
ance was  to  commence,  the  twelve  thousand  seats  were  all  occupied, 
and  a  fringe  of  men  were  standing  behind  the  upper  row.  From  our 
shaded  places — a  la  somhra — we  looked  across  the  great  circle  at  the 
men  and  women  crowded  together  under  the  fierce  rays  of  the  after- 
noon sun.  The  incessant  fluttering  of  large,  gaudy  colored  fans  was 
like  the  movement  of  thousands  of  brilliant  butterflies.  The  scene 
was  animated  and  remarkable. 

Promptly  at  three  o'clock  a  blare  of  trumpets  and  a  band  of 
music  were  heard  and  every  one  in  that  vast  audience  stood  up  as 
the  procession  appeared  and  marched  to  the  Alcalde's  box,  one  half 
on  either  side  of  the  arena. 

Two  guards,  in  black  plumed  hats  and  black  velvet  mantles  on 
handsome  black  horses.  Toreadors,  very  picturesque  in  short  em- 
broidered velvet  jackets,  wide  crimson  sashes  with  knotted  ends  fall- 
ing on  one  side,  tightly  fitting  knee  breeches  trimmed  with  buttons 
and  small  coins  of  gold  and  silver,  ruffled  shirt  front,  hair  braided  in 
a  short  queue,  small  three  cornered  hat,  white  silk  stockings  and  low 
shoes.  Banderilleros,  in  red,  black  and  yellow,  glittering  with  gilt 
braid,  carrying  darts  with  streamers  of  ribbon.  Chulos,  in  bespangled 
dress  and  a  cloak  of  fiery  red  thrown  over  an  arm.  Picadores,  their 
legs  encased  in  metal,  covered  with  leather,  their  brilliant  colored 
jackets  well  padded,  carrying  long,  heavy  lances  and  riding  poor, 
sorry,  broken-down  horses,  one  blind  folded  eye  on  the  side  presented 
to  the  bull.  Two  teams  of  mules,  six  in  each  team,  gayly  caparisoned 
with  bells  on  the  harness. 

The  divided  procession  met  before  the  box  of  the  Alcalde  and  a 
very  brilliant,  picturesque  group  they  made.  The  Alcalde  rose, 
bowed  and  threw  down  a  key,  thus  granting  permission  for  the  fight. 
The  key  was  carried  to  the  guardian  of  a  door,  over  which  was  a 
bull's  head  carved  in  wood. 

The  door  was  unlocked,  thrown  open,  and  the  supreme  moment 
for  that  great  concourse  of  people  had  come.  A  splendid  animal, 
that  until  yesterday  had  passed  all  the  few  short  years  of  his  life  in 
flowery  meadows,  was  driven  from  his  dark  prison,  and  stood  motion- 
less for  a  few  seconds,  dazzled  by  the  strong  light,  and  dazed  by  the 
strange  sights  that  he  saw,  and  the  strange  sounds  that  he  heard, — 

Page  One  Hundred  Twenty-eight 


.iHiiiiiiiiHmHHiiiimimmiiHiHNiuiniHiiiiiiinHiHiHmiHmmiiiNiHMHHUiimuiiuHiiiiitiiimiiiiiiinniiiniiiniritiitiiNitiHiniiHNHiniiriinrHiNiinnNMiiniiiitiiiiiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiiiiiuiuiuiniuuNiutuiuiuiuuiiiMiuniiiiiiuuimiiiiniHuiHHiiiiinuiiunHuiiiiiiiniiiiiiniiuuiniimitiunmuiiniuniiiniirinnuiHuiiiiiimiiniiiiiuiiHiiuiu 

then  like  a  flash  the  powerful,  pitiless,  ferocious  beast  plunged  into 
the  ring  and  with  his  long,  sharp  horns  ripped  open  and  disemboweled 
the  first  horse  he  reached,  throwing  horse  and  rider  to  the  ground. 
The  spectators  were  in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  delight,  and  cries  of 
"Bravo  Toro!  Bravo  Toro"  resounded  through  the  air. 

And  we,  with  many  an  oh!  oh!  oh!  we  looked  at  one  another. 

You  said  "How  horrible!  how  horrible!"  and  I,  always  extrava- 
gantly fond  of  horses  admiring  those  of  high  estate,  and  pitying 
those  of  low  estate,  I  began  to  cry. 

You  did  not  look  towards  the  ring  but  we  both  knew  from  the 
hoarse,  excited  cries  of  men,  and  the  shrill,  excited  cries  of  women,  of 
"Bravo  Toro"  that,  that  demon  of  a  brute  was  going  on  with  his 
bloody  work. 

As  I  continued  to  weep,  you  asked,  "Would  you  like  to  go 
away?"  I  answered,  "How  much  did  you  tell  me  you  paid  for  the 
seats?" 

Then  you  laughed  and  quoted, 

"For  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent. 
She  had  a  frugal  mind." 

adding,  "I  paid  seven  dollars  for  the  two  seats  but  don't  be  influenced 
by  that,  if  you  wish  to  go  away.    If  you  stay  you  must  stop  crying/^ 

I  did  stop  crying  and  said  I  would  wait  to  see  that  dreadful  bull 
punished,  but  I  did  not  have  the  courage  to  see  what  was  going  on 
until  you  said  "Look!  look!"  A  chulo  waving  his  bit  of  maddening 
color  before  the  bull,  suddenly  finding  he  had  only  one  means  of 
escape,  jumped  on  the  animal's  head.  I  did  not  see  the  agile  little 
imp  make  the  jump,  but  I  did  see  him  leisurely  walk  down  the  broad 
back,  and  slip  to  the  ground  over  the  tail. 

Before  that  time  the  be-tasseled  mules  with  their  tinkling  bells, 
had  dragged  away  the  victims,  and  fresh  white  sand  covered  the 
blood  stained  spots. 

The  bull's  shoulders  and  flanks  were  stuck  full  of  barbed  darts, 
the  streamers  of  ribbon  tied  to  them,  fluttering  in  the  air  with  his 
every  movement.  He  was  still  full  of  fight  and  wickedness,  when  the 
signal  was  given  for  his  despatch,  and  a  lithe,  slender,  handsome 
young  toreador,  with  a  red  cloak  over  his  left  arm,  and  a  gleaming 
sword  in  his  right  hand  stepped  into  the  ring.  The  Toreador  and 
the  bull  faced  each  other — looked  steadily  at  each  other — on  the 
part  of  the  Toreador,  it  surely  did  call  for  courage. 

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•iMmiHinnraiiiinmitMniiinimiitiiiitiitiiiiininiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiinniintiniinmntiiiiiiiiniiiiniiiininiiuniuitniiuiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiniuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiM^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

«HIUUH«INHIIiniiinilllllllllUIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIMHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIItlllllllllllllllllHIIIIIIIINIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIIIIIIIIIHinilllllIlllllllinilllllllllMIM 

It  seemed  many  minutes  but  was  probably  not  more  than  one, 
of  tense,  breathless  excitement,  then  lowering  his  head,  with  a  sudden 
spring  the  bull  darted  forward.  The  Toreador  waving  his  cloak 
jumped  aside.  We  saw  the  sword  gleam  in  the  air  and  turned  our 
faces  away.  Again  the  wildest  cries  rang  through  the  ring.  Bravo! 
Bravo!  Magnifico!  Magnifico!  but  this  time  they  were  not  for  the 
toro ;  they  were  for  the  man.  When  we  looked,  the  bull  was  stretched 
lifeless  on  the  ground  and  the  Toreador  stood,  cap  in  hand  before  the 
Alcalde's  box  receiving  an  ovation  of  a  strange  and  amusing  kind, 
as  cigars,  cigarettes,  money  and  hats  were  showered  upon  him  from 
every  side.  The  first  three  he  could  appropriate,  but  the  hats  were 
all  claimed  by  their  owners. 

Directly  across  the  aisle  from  our  seats,  that  were  on  the  great 
stone  circle,  softened  by  cushions  you  had  rented,  the  boxes  began. 
In  the  first  box,  were  four  gentlemen  and  four  ladies.  The  ladies 
were  elegant,  and  gowned  exquisitely,  and  you  told  me,  that  when 
we  turned  in  horror  from  that  first  sickening  spectacle,  they  were  all 
holding  their  fans  before  their  faces.  Whether  they  had  learned 
from  experience,  or  whether  they  were  warned  by  the  gentlemen  of 
their  party,  they  surely  knew  when  to  look,  and  when  not  to  look,  and 
guided  by  the  movements  of  their  lovely  fans,  we  were  spared  any 
further  shock,  as  they  even  shut  out  the  killing  of  the  bulls.  We 
remained  for  three  acts  of  the  performance.  We  saw  many  hair 
breadth  escapes  when  men  just  managed  to  reach  and  vault  over  the 
barrier  five  feet  high,  surrounding  the  ring.  We  saw  many  acts  of 
daring  and  bravado;  many  of  great  courage  when  a  cloak  would  be 
waved  in  the  face  of  an  infuriated  bull,  to  turn  him  away  from  a 
hard  pressed  comrade. 

At  dinner  our  Spanish  Countess  was  full  of  enthusiasm — she  had 
never  seen  a  better  fight,  and  we  wondered  how  much  of  it  had  been 
shut  out  by  her  fan!  On  the  streets  and  in  the  cafes  nothing  was 
heard  but  toro,  toro,  toro.  Every  one  talked  of  the  bull  fight,  and  we 
talked  of  it  too,  and  we  agreed,  that  if  the  bull  was  only  teased  and 
not  killed,  and  if  the  sickening,  revolting  brutality  practised  on  the 
poor,  helpless,  blind-folded  horses —  which  is  a  disgrace  and  reproach 
to  Spain — could  be  eliminated,  a  bull  fight  would  be  the  gayest, 
cleverest,  most  picturesque  and  exciting  of  sports! 

The  next  morning  you  read  to  me  from  the  newspapers.  "The 
first  performance  of  the  season  at  the  Plaza  del  Toros  had  been  a 
great  success.  Then  followed  a  long  list  of  names  of  the  Spanish 
nobility  present.    The  first  bull  from  the  famous  herd  of  the  Duke  of 

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wmiiiitMiiMiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiNiuiiiiiitiiiiiiiHiiiiinniiiiniMiiiMimmiitflniiiNiiminmiHiiMimiiimMHnmiHniiiMnnnHHiiniHiiHiNiiiiiiiuiiniiu^^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iliuiiiiiinMniHiniiiiiiiiHiiiiMiiiiiiiiniiiuiiiMiiniiiniuininiiiiiMiniMiiiiMiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiuiiiuiinumiriiiuiiiiiiuHiiiirniitiMiuiuiiMiiiiiuiHniuiinniiiiiiii^ 

Veragua  had  killed  five  horses  in  ten  minutes.  The  brilliant  work  of 
the  first  Espada  was  highly  praised.  In  all,  six  bulls  and  fifteen 
horses  had  been  killed."  Then  came  many  casualties,  but  no  life  had 
been  lost. 

The  Fair  was  held  in  a  great  open  space,  the  Prado  San 
Sebastian.  It  was  the  site  of  the  Quemadero,  and  the  Prado  was 
called  the  burning  ground^  and  there  thousands  and  thousands  of 
heretics  were  martyred.  Now,  it  was  a  city  of  booths,  and  row  after 
row  of  house  tents — casetas — divided  in  quarters  for  the  Military,  the 
Municipality,  the  Classes  and  the  Masses. 

At  the  boundary  of  the  Fair  grounds  there  were  flocks  of  sheep, 
herds  of  cattle  and  droves  of  pigs.  In  an  enclosure  jockeys  were 
riding  beautiful  white  Andalusian  horses,  draft  mules  and  donkeys 
were  being  exhibited,  and  sleek  velvety  skinned  carriage  mules  with 
long  silky  ears  and  varnished  hoofs.  Such  handsome,  aristocratic 
looking  animals! 

There  were  booths  and  side  shows — ^men,  women  and  children 
dancing  around  hand-organs — Gypsies  dressed  for  Grand  Opera, 
telling  fortunes,  etc.,  etc.,  but  our  interest  centered  in  the  casetas; 
large,  square  tents,  flat  on  the  top,  the  entire  front  open  to  the  street, 
comfortably  furnished,  where  every  morning  during  the  three  days 
of  the  Fair,  the  entire  family  came,  with  servants,  provisions,  mando- 
lins, guitars  and  childrens'  toys. 

As  the  sunbeams  left  the  plaza  long  lines  of  carriages  with 
crests  on  the  doors,  drew  up  before  the  tents,  and  the  young  children, 
lovely  little  beings,  all  lace  and  ribbon  and  large,  dark  eyes,  in  charge 
of  gorgeously  attired  nursemaids,  were  tucked  away  and  driven  to 
the  city  home,  parents  and  other  members  of  the  family  standing  in 
the  open  space  of  the  tent  to  see  them  off. 

As  night  fell,  hundreds  of  Chinese  lanterns  were  lighted,  and 
the  scene  within  the  tents  and  without,  was  one  of  beauty  and  anima- 
tion. We  got  our  dinner,  a  bit  here  and  a  bit  there,  the  most  sub- 
stantial and  most  enjoyable  part  being  the  calientes  or  crullers  from 
the  pots  of  sizzling  oil.  In  the  tents  little  dinners  were  partaken  of 
in  full  view  of  the  strollers  on  the  streets,  and  then  came  the  music 
and  dancing.  Bewitching  young  girls  would  dance  to  the  click  of 
their  castanets  without  caring  or  thinking  of  the  crowd  of  onlookers 
outside  the  tent.  The  gaiety  seemed  at  its  height  when  at  eleven 
o'clock  we  drove  back  to  the  City,  where  dullness  reigned  supreme. 
Patios  were  dark  and  deserted,  shops  and  bazaars  closed,  and  streets 
empty. 

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MiminiiiiiuiHimimirmmmmntniinimiiiiiiiniiiiminimimMHnmimiimiiiniinMmniiiitnuMiMniiinirriniiiiiuiiniiiHmiriNiiiimNHiiimitmimffliiimHiHHmmi^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iMuiiiinumiuntiiunHiiiiniuu»iniHiMiiiiiiiii»iiiiiuiMiiiiiiiHiiiuiiiiniiiiiiiimNiiuiiiuiiiiiiuiiniiiiiiiiniiiiniiiiiiuiiwmiiiiiHMUiuiiiiiiiniHiHHiMumiwiimiHi^ 

Seville  had  been  a  perfect  delight  to  us,  but  the  high  prices  and 
general  demoralization  that  prevailed  during  Easter  hurried  us 
away.  The  life  of  the  streets,  where  we  spent  most  of  our  time,  was 
fascinating.  Coquettish  little  girls  with  bare  feet,  tattered  skirts, 
tattered  shawls  with  long,  ragged  fringe,  flowers  in  their  hair,  flirt- 
ing their  fans  with  an  elegance  born  in  them, — somber  garbed 
priests  crossing  the  plazas  under  immense  cotton  umbrellas  of  orange, 
red  or  blue, — ^water  carriers  all  in  white, — the  crowded  shopping 
streets  and  bazaars,  sheltered  from  the  sun  by  awnings  overhead, — 
the  glimpses  of  life  in  the  patios — the  lovely  Giralda  with  the  silvery 
peal  of  its  bells,  and  the  weather-vane  silhouetted  against  the  azure 
sky, — the  glorious  music  of  the  Cathedral;  the  luxuriant  bloom  of 
flowers  that  filled  the  air  with  perfume, — the  delicious  nights,  saunter- 
ing with  the  crowds  on  the  streets, — with  young  men  playing  guitars 
and  singing  snatches  of  song, — and  we  going  from  one  cafe  to  an- 
other in  those  warm  breezeless  nights,  eating  ices  and  enjoying  the 
life  around  the  small  crowded  tables.  Charming  women  and  their 
escorts  and  men  playing  dominoes,  the  rattling  of  the  pieces  mingling 
with  talk  and  laughter. 

Often  we  said,  "Tonight  we  will  wait  and  see  at  what  hour  the 
people  go  to  their  homes,"  but  about  one  in  the  morning  our  courage 
always  gave  out  and  we  left  ladies  eating  ices,  men  playing  dominoes, 
smoking  and  drinking  wine  or  cofl'ee,  and  from  patios  came  the 
sound  of  song  and  laughter — when  we  heard  the  click  of  castanets 
we  stopped  for  a  glimpse  of  some  graceful  girl  dancing  the  cachuca. 

From  Seville  we  went  to  Cadiz  100  miles  away.  We  passed 
through  Jerez  surrounded  by  a  vast  tract  of  vines  that  bore  the 
sherry  producing  grapes.  There  were  pressing  houses  and  large 
buildings  for  storing  wine  and  for  miles  on  both  sides  of  the  road 
piles  of  casks. 

After  the  life  and  charm  of  Seville,  Cadiz  was  a  dull,  uninterest- 
ing place.  All  the  houses  were  white  and  the  dazzling  sunshine  upon 
them  was  trying  in  the  extreme.  There  were  pleasant  squares  with 
fountains  and  flowers  and  every  afternoon  music  by  a  military  band, 
and  a  charming  walk  in  broad  terraces  along  the  sea  wall;  but  we 
missed  the  patios  and  the  shops,  and  we  failed  to  see  girls  as  captivat- 
ing as  those  of  whom  Byron  wrote. 

General  Sickles  and  daughter  and  the  American  Consul,  with 
his  wife,  were  at  the  Fonda  de  Paris,  where  we  fortunately  went,  and 
by  their  kindness  made  our  forced  stay  of  three  days  waiting  for  a 
steamer  a  pleasant  memory.    Every  evening  the  Consul  carried  you 

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iimiiiinHiiiiiunniiiiiinMninHHniiiiiiiiHiHiiiHiiiiuuiMtmiiiiiiiHtHUitiuimiuiHiiiNimiiiiiuiiHiiiiNiiHiuiiiiiHmnHMNiiiiimmmiwHiiiiHiMiHHiiimm^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

IIIIIIHIHIIIIIUHIIHIUIWIIIUIIIIIIIIIHniUIHHIinMHHIIIIMIIIinillUIHIUIIIIUIIIIIHUIIimilllllinilUIIIUHIMIIUninHIIIUHIIHinnillllWIIIIHHIIUIWIIHItHMHH^ 

and  the  General  off  to  the  club,  and  they  all  went  with  us  to  the 
Convent  of  San  Francisco  to  see  Murillo's  beautiful  picture,  The 
Marriage  of  St.  Catherine,  and  to  the  Capuchin  Monastery  where 
we  saw  a  Pastoral  Virgin,  by  Murillo,  wearing  a  large  straw  hat 
trimmed  with  flowers  and  holding  the  staff  of  a  shepherdess;  around 
her,  lambs,  their  necks  garlanded  with  flowers.  An  unusual  picture 
but  very  pretty. 

General  Sickles  stormed  around  and  stamped  the  floor  with  his 
wooden  leg  when  he  heard  that  we  could  not  obtain  through  his 
deputy  a  card  admitting  us  to  the  opening  of  the  Cortes,  and  declared 
he  would  make  things  lively  for  somebody  when  he  got  back  to 
Madrid. 

Very  early  on  an  April  morning  we  sailed  in  a  small  coasting 
steamer  called  the  Genii,  for  Malaga.  Soon  as  we  got  away  from 
the  wharf  the  Genii  began  to  roll  and  pitch  and  your  enthusiasm 
about  the  beautiful  appearance  Cadiz  presented,  rising  you  said  like 
an  island  from  the  sea,  was  not  shared  by  me.  Lunch  time,  but  I 
was  not  hungry.  At  three  o'clock  we  passed  Cape  Trafalgar.  We 
rolled  and  pitched  through  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar  most  horribly, 
you  vainly  trying  to  interest  me  in  the  mountain  peaks  of  Africa. 
Then  the  great  rock  of  Gibraltar  loomed  before  us  and  soon  we  were 
in  the  smooth  waters  of  the  Bay  of  Algeciras.  For  nearly  six  hours 
we  lay  at  the  pier  taking  on  and  discharging  cargo.  Little  boats 
were  going  back  and  forth  carrying  passengers  to  Gibraltar,  and  we 
wanted  so  much  to  go,  but  the  Captain  was  obdurate,  and  you,  always 
the  dear  Philosopher,  said  we  should  probably  not  see  anything  so 
interesting  as  the  great,  rugged  rock  and  the  animated  wharf. 

From  fishing  boats,  fishermen  with  crimson  caps  and  sashes,  were 
carrying  their  catch  to  the  pier,  and  Moors,  such  wonderful  looking 
beings  when  first  seen!  Moors,  with  jet  black  faces  under  large 
white  turbans,  their  bare,  jet  black  arms  and  ankles  in  striking  con- 
trast to  the  white  of  the  voluminous  burnouses,  their  feet  covered  by 
yellow  slippers  were  moving  in  and  out  among  their  merchandise. 
It  was  a  fascinating  scene. 

Soon  after  the  sunset  gun  was  fired  from  Gibraltar,  the  rock 
took  on  a  lovely  pink  color,  and  when  darkness  fell,  friendly  little 
lights  came  out  on  the  mastheads  of  boats,  in  Algeciras,  and  around 
and  about  the  grand,  imposing  rock. 

At  five  o'clock  next  morning  we  were  at  Malaga.  We  waited 
two  hours  for  the  health  officers  to  come  on  board.  They  looked  at 
the  tongues  of  all  the  passengers  and  crew.     We  were  then,  at  an 

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luiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiHinMniiiiiiniiiiitiniiiiiinHiriiniiiiiMiHinitiiiiniiiiniiiHiriiNHiiiiiiiiiiiiuniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiirinuiHniimHnuiiiiwiiMiiuiimiHiuiininMiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

^iHMiiiiiiiuiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiitHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinniuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiuiiuiHiiuuiHiuHiiiuiiiiiiiiiiuuHiiiiiiiiiiimniiiiiiiMimiiHiiiuiiMiiiiHiiiiHinininii^ 

exorbitant  rate,  rowed  ashore  to  the  custom  house,  where  our  valises 
and  hand-bags  were  carefully  examined.  With  patience  pretty  well 
exhausted  we  reached  the  Fonda  de  la  Alameda. 

Going  out  later  on  the  Alameda,  the  first  thing  that  attracted 
our  attention  was  a  group  of  boys.  One  of  them  had  a  bird  that  the 
others  were  trying  to  take  away.  We  stopped  to  look  and  found 
that  the  poor  little  bird  had  a  string  tied  to  one  of  its  legs,  which 
was  fastened  to  a  stick  and  used  as  a  plaything.  You  bought  the 
bird,  cut  the  string  and  away  the  bird  flew.  That  was  but  a  be- 
ginning for  as  we  went  along  there  was  a  succession  of  boys, 
single,  or  in  groups,  with  captive  birds.  How  many,  Dear  Heart, 
how  many  you  tried  to  give  freedom!  but  often  the  wings  were 
bruised  or  broken,  and  the  poor  little  things  could  only  flutter  a  few 
feet  away,  and  would  then  be  re-captured. 

To  relieve  our  distress,  we  turned  away  from  the  Alameda.  A 
hot,  disagi-eeable  wind,  clouds  of  fine  white  dust,  and  swarms  of 
ragged  beggars  followed  us  and  made  the  day  thoroughly  unpleasant. 
We  found  great  activity  in  the  business  streets  and  in  the  shop 
windows  boxes  of  raisins  and  chocolate  attractively  displayed.  We 
drove  to  the  new  and  fashionable  quarter  and  saw  the  splendid 
homes  of  the  wealthy,  and  wondered  in  which  our  Countess  lived. 

At  seven  the  following  morning  we  left  Malaga  for  Granada. 
For  many,  many  miles  we  rode  through  a  country  of  wonderful 
fertility.  A  great  orchard,  of  orange,  fig,  date,  lemon,  olive  and 
almond  trees  and  when  we  reached  the  foothills  we  found  them 
covered  with  vines. 

Our  wheezy  engine,  with  much  puffing,  carried  us  up  a  consid- 
erable elevation  and  through  a  wild  gorge  of  the  river  Xenil,  with 
bold  precipitous  cliffs,  between  which  we  got  fine  views  of  Malaga 
and  the  Bay. 

From  Archidona,  to  cross  the  pass  of  3,000  feet  over  the  moun- 
tain range,  we  had  our  first  experiensce  with  a  Spanish  diligencia. 
It  stood  at  the  door  of  the  posada  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  train. 
A  clumsy,  shabby  vehicle,  on  top  of  which  the  baggage  and  freight 
were  being  piled,  with  seats  for  the  driver  and  conductor  under  a 
hood.  A  small  compartment  called  the  herlina  was  taken  from  the 
body  of  the  coach  at  the  front  with  room  for  three  passengers.  There 
were  twelve  mules  before  the  diligencia,  the  harness  stuck  full  of  red 
worsted  tassels  and  balls,  and  around  each  animal's  neck  strings  of 
bells.  The  bodies  of  the  mules  were  clipped  in  all  manner  of  fan- 
tastic, grotesque  and  zig-zag  patterns. 

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■imiiiimiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiuniHiniHniiiHiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiimmimimiiiiimiiiiimiMinmimiiiiiniiiiniiiiiiiiimiiimiiiiMiiniiuinininiiiinii^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

miiiiiiiiiiiii iiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimHiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiJiiiiiiirimiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiHiiiiinu 

The  two  men  and  the  boy  in  charge  of  this  remarkable  outfit 
were  picturesque.  The  mayoral  or  conductor  was  the  important 
personage  and  had  general  supervision  over  everything  and  every- 
body. He  assigned  seats  and  regulated  the  time  of  starting  and 
stopping;  he  was  good  natured  and  a  picture  to  look  at,  with  his 
embroidered  velvet  jacket,  leather  leggins,  silver  buttons  on  his 
gaiters,  a  wide  red  sash  and  large  sombrero  with  silver  cord  and 
tassel.  From  him  you  secured  the  herlina,  paying  for  the  extra  seat, 
and  glad  indeed  we  were  to  have  it,  for  the  garlic  eating  passengers 
that  were  packed  in  the  coach  would  not  have  been  agreeable  com- 
panions. 

The  driver  and  little  postillion,  the  Mozo,  were  much  embroid- 
ered, wore  sashes  and  silver  buttons,  and  silver  cord  with  tassels  on 
their  hats.  The  Mozo  was  the  Mayoral  in  miniature, — very  small  and 
wizen-faced  he  was  a  most  comical  looking  bit  of  humanity. 

When  the  loading  was  finished  a  heavy  leather  covering  was 
drawn  over  the  mountainous  top,  and  the  ungainly  vehicle  was  ready 
for  a  start.  Places  were  taken,  the  mite  of  a  postillion  ran  forward 
and  jumped  astride  one  of  the  leading  mules,  the  driver  took  up  the 
reins  that  controlled  only  the  mules  at  the  wheel,  and  we  were  off. 
What  we  went  over,  the  liveliest  imagination  could  not  call  a  road. 
Rocks,  stones,  boulders,  gullies,  ditches,  and  no  attempt  made  to 
avoid  any  one  of  them,  and  every  minute  we  expected  the  old  coach 
would  upset. 

The  heat  was  intense.  The  string  of  mules  floundered  along  in 
a  perfect  whirlwind  of  dust.  We  seldom  had  a  glimpse  of  any  of 
the  team,  except  the  two  immediately  in  front  of  us.  Before  we 
reached  the  summit  we  stopped  at  a  rough  looking  place  and  when 
again  we  started,  our  team  numbered  sixteen.  After  four  and  a  half 
hours  of  great  discomfort  from  heat  and  dust  we  reached  the  rail- 
road. 

At  Granada  we  got  into  a  queer,  most  uncomfortable  vehicle, 
the  front  wheels  being  unusually  small,  and  the  back  wheels  unusually 
large.  We  were  driven  rapidly  through  narrow,  rough  streets,  we 
two  and  our  luggage  all  in  a  jumble  against  the  front  of  the  vehicle. 
Suddenly  we  were  upon  a  smooth  roadway,  beneath  tall  trees,  and 
at  ten  o'clock,  (I,  tired  almost  to  exhaustion)  we  entered  a  haven  of 
rest,  the  Washington  Irving  Hotel  at  the  Alhambra. 

The  landlord,  Swiss,  a  nice  man  who  spoke  English  well. 

"Can  you  give  us  a  bite  of  something  to  eat?"  you  asked  him, 
adding,  that  we  had  come  from  Malaga. 

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(iiMiummiiiiniiiiNiiniiiininHtiMiiiiiMitiiiiiiiiiiiiniiniiiiiiniiinnHiiiiiiinminnniiiiiHiiiniiiiiiniHiiiniitiiiiiuiiinmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiMniniinHiiiiiriiiinnninmciii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

aiiiiiinHiinitiiiiinMHiiiiiHiHiiiHiiininiuiininniuiiMiiiiiiuniuiiiiniMiiiiiimiiiiiiiiimiminiHiiniiiiiimiiiiiiiriiiiiiiinumiiiiiiiiinmiiiiiiiiitinii^ 

"You  need  more  than  a  bite  after  that  journey,"  he  answered, 
and  while  we  washed  away  some  of  the  dust  and  grime,  the  dear, 
kind  man  had  a  very  nice  supper  prepared  for  us. 

"Tired  Nature's  sweet  restorer,  balmy  sleep"  made  new  beings 
of  us  during  the  night,  and  what  a  joy  it  was  on  waking  in  the 
morning  to  remember  where  we  were. 

"Do  you  realize,  Dear  Heart,  that  we  are  at  the  Alhambra?" 
I  asked. 

"One  of  our  cherished  dreams  come  true,  dear — "  you  answered. 

We  had  read  Irving's  Alhambra  over  and  over  again  and  were 
fairly  steeped  in  the  romance,  the  poetry  and  interest  so  delightfully 
set  forth  in  the  book. 

We  went  out  in  the  grove — ^blessings  on  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton— where,  in  the  interlaced  branches  of  tall  slender  trees  of  elm  and 
lime,  numberless  nightingales  were  singing  in  chorus  of  most  entranc- 
ing song;  where  on  both  sides  of  the  road  little  rivulets  of  sparkling 
water  were  running  in  channels  from  one  murmuring  fountain  to 
another;  where  roses  and  jasmine  blooming  in  profusion  made  all  the 
air  delicious. 

Blissfully  happy,  hand  in  hand,  we  walked  back  and  forth  in 
that  heavenly  spot,  forgetting  completely  for  the  time,  the  Palace 
of  the  Moors  and  all  the  lore  of  the  place! 

We  expected  as  the  day  advanced  those  tireless  birds  would 
cease  to  sing,  for  we  had  yet  to  learn  that  in  the  groves  of  the  Al- 
hambra the  nightingales  sing  day  and  night.  After  a  considerable 
time  we  sauntered  on.  Ah  me !  those  delightful  days  in  that  enchant- 
ing spot,  with  Irving  for  our  guide  and  companion,  you  reading 
aloud  his  descriptions  and  all  the  romantic  tales  and  traditions  con- 
nected with  the  palace  and  towers,  as  we  went  from  one  place  to  an- 
other over  and  over  again. 

Back  of  the  unfinished  palace  of  CharlesV — which  Irving  called 
an  arrogant  intruder,  and  to  make  way  for  which,  much  of  the 
Moorish  palace  was  destroyed — we  followed  a  narrow  alley,  and 
through  a  low  doorway  entered  fairyland. 

Court  after  court  with  fountains  and  pools,  and  arcades  of 
slender  marble  pillars  that  supported  "elegant  galleries  of  fretted 
architecture."  Hall  after  hall  of  a  loveliness  bewildering  and  in- 
describable. Tiles  of  exquisite  color,  and  sculptured  birds  and 
flowers,  escutcheons  and  ciphers,  geometrical  patterns  and  inscriptions 
from  the  Koran  in  graceful  Arabic  letters.  Every  wall  a  "petrified 
veil  of  the  most  delicate  lace,"  in  color  a  soft  creamy  pink. 

Page  One  Hundred  Thirty-six 


iiinriiininiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiintnHiiimiiiiiiiiiinnininiiiiiiiiiniiiiiitimiiiiniHiiinHiimnininiiiininitiMiiiinninHiiiMirtinniiiiHiitnMiniMitiiiniiiiiiiniiiiinninii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

.1IIIIIIIMI iiiiiiiiiiimiii iiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiHiiiiiiiinii iiiiiiiii uiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiniuuiiiiiiiuiiiiiiriiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiriiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiim 

How  well  I  remember,  Dear,  when  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
palace  we  first  came  upon  the  charming  little  Garden  of  Lindaraja — 
a  favorite  Sultana — with  its  fountains,  its  roses,  and  citrons  and 
hedges  of  myrtle;  and  our  unbounded  joy  at  sight  of  the  Court  of 
Lions!  How  we  lingered  there,  drinking  in  the  beauty  of  that  en- 
chanted place!  Two  delightful  porticos,  and  arcades  of  delicate 
marble  columns,  with  graceful  horseshoe  arches  above,  enclosed  the 
"fountain,  famous  in  song  and  story"  and  formed  the  lovely  Court 
of  Lions. 

And  what  funny  looking  old  Lions  they  were!  Twelve  in 
number,  of  red  marble,  rudely  sculptured  and  uncouth,  with  immense 
paws,  and  ridiculous  tails ;  many  minus  an  ear,  or  part  of  a  nose,  that 
Vandals  had  chipped  off,  perhaps  centuries  ago,  with  water  gushing 
from  their  mouths,  and  bearing  on  their  backs,  an  enormous  double 
basin  of  alabaster,  the  Lions  made  a  fountain,  matchless  and  unique 
in  all  the  World! 

We  often  walked  through  the  Gate  of  Justice — that  joy  of 
artists — with  the  sculptured  hand  and  key  on  successive  arches;  and 
across  a  deep  ravine,  up  the  hill,  through  avenues  of  tall,  closely- 
clipped  cypress  trees,  to  the  summer  villa  of  Moorish  Sovereigns,  the 
Generalife.  The  terraced  gardens  were  full  of  flowers  and  fragrance, 
and  the  gushing  waters  filled  the  air  with  music. 

To  us,  not  the  least  by  far,  of  the  "witching  charm  of  the  Al- 
hambra"  was  Irving's  own  experience  of  life  within  the  Moorish 
Palace.  We  often  visited  the  rooms  he  occupied  and  were  always 
looking  for  counterparts  of  the  "personages  who  constituted  his 
regal  household."  Tia  Antonia,  the  good  dame  who  put  a  little 
common  furniture  in  the  rooms,  and  supplied  the  table  in  her  own 
simple  way.  Dolores,  the  plump,  dark-eyed,  merry-hearted  little 
niece  who  officiated  as  hand-maid.  Pepe,  the  tall,  stuttering  yellow- 
haired  lad  who  worked  in  the  gardens  and  brought  each  morning  a 
tribute  of  flowers.  Mateo  Ximenes,  "a  son  of  the  Alhambra"  who 
appointed  and  installed  himself  as  valet,  guide  and  gossiping  squire. 
The  simple  meals  taken  wherever  fancy  dictated — sometimes  in  one 
of  the  Moorish  halls,  sometimes  under  the  arcades  of  the  Court  of 
Lions  surrounded  by  fountains;  and  the  frugal  supper  of  fruit  and 
milk  on  a  balcony  overhanging  the  Darro.  What  a  charming  place 
that  balcony  was!  and  how  we  enjoyed  sitting  there  when  the  sun 
went  down  and  the  "parched  Vega"  lay  bathed  in  soft  and  tender 
light. 

Our  guide,  Mateo  Ximenes,  a  youth  of  twenty,  claimed  to  be 

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nmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitmiiiiiiHiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinuiiiiiiiiriiiimniiiiiiiiiiriniimiiiiiiitiiiiiiuimiiiiini itiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim tiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiu 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

nuiiiiiiiMiHiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiuiiiiiiiiiHiiiuuiuiniiiiiiiniiHiimHiiiiiiiniiiimiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiniiuiiiiiniininiiiuiiiiiMinniiiiiuiiiiiiniiiiiuiiiiiiiin^ 

a  grandson  of  the  Mateo  Ximenes  immortalized  by  Irving,  and  as 
Irving's  Mateo  had  a  "numerous  progeny"  there  was  no  reason  to 
doubt  his  descent.  We  were  allowed  to  ramble  about  as  we  pleased, 
and  remain  for  any  length  of  time  in  places  that  took  our  fancy — 
so  different  from  subsequent  visits  when  we  went  with  crowds  of 
tourists  from  one  court  to  another  watched  by  an  army  of  guides. 

We  made  several  visits  to  Granada.  We  went  to  the  Cathedral 
and  saw  in  the  Royal  Chapel  the  magnificent  tombs  of  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella.  We  saw  their  crowns,  sceptres  and  jewels;  and  the  sword 
of  Boabdil,  with  exquisitely  chiselled  scabbard  and  jewelled  hilt. 

The  streets  were  always  full  of  picturesque  gypsies.  Widely 
different  specimens  we  fell  in  with  one  day  when  we  climbed  a  hill 
for  the  view  and  came  suddenly  upon  a  gypsy  stronghold.  Burrow- 
ing like  animals  in  caves  cut  in  the  side  of  the  hill,  with  hedges  of 
cactus  shielding  the  entrance  from  view,  we  found  a  ragged,  tattered, 
cut-throat  looking  lot.  They  resented  our  presence  with  such  scowls 
and  threats  that  we  beat  a  hasty  retreat;  a  half  dozen  dogs  snapping 
and  snarling  at  our  heels. 

"A  very  unsafe  place  for  you  to  have  gone,"  our  landlord  said. 

The  gypsies  were  good  for  nothing;  whether  in  ragged  raiment 
they  burrowed  in  caves,  or  lived  in  town  bedecked  with  spangles,  they 
never  worked,  preferring  to  steal,  beg,  sing,  dance,  tell  fortunes,  and 
sell  charms  to  ward  off  the  evil  eye. 

On  the  last  night  of  our  stay  as  we  walked  in  the  grove,  the 
nightingales  singing  in  the  trees,  I  asked, 

"Must  we  tear  ourselves  away  from  this  heavenly  place,  Dear? 
Why  not  stay  longer?" 

"It  is  better  to  go  now  while  it  is  all  so  perfect,"  you  answered. 

"Remember  what  Irving  wrote,  'the  advance  of  summer  with- 
er ed  the  rose  and  silenced  the  nightingale.'  " 

True,  we  had  had  six  perfect  days  in  one  of  the  beauty  spots  of 
the  World.  We  had  loitered  in  the  courts  and  halls  of  the  palace,  and 
lingered  in  the  gardens.  We  had  climbed  to  the  tops  of  the  "ruddy 
towers"  on  the  hillside,  and  seen  below  us  Granada,  and  the  luxuriant 
Vega,  "a  blooming  wilderness  of  garden  and  teeming  orchard."  Day 
after  day  the  snowy  summits  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  had  shone  like 
silver  against  the  cloudless  azure  of  the  sky,  and  every  evening  we 
had  seen  the  long  range  bathed  in  softest  tints  of  pink  and  rose.  The 
greensward  was  thickly  strewn  with  violets  and  daisies  and  the  hedges 
of  rose  and  jasmine  were  full  of  bloom  and  perfume. 

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lUHiiHiniiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiii tiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiriiiiiniiiiiiriHiiiiiHiHuniNiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuitiiiiiiiHiiiiiiuiiiiiHiiiiiiuiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiittiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiinHii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

uuMiiiiimiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiuiiiiiiiiiMiiHiiriiiHuiHiiiiiiiiiiuuii iiiuiiuuiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiuiiinmiin 

It  was  the  Spring  of  the  Year!  and  the  Springtime  of  Life! 
when  being  was  a  joy! 

At  four  o'clock  next  morning  we  left  the  hotel  and  walked 
through  the  grove  to  Granada.  In  the  rosy  dawn  "the  orchestra  of 
nature"  was  in  its  full  strength  and  the  nightingales  joined  by  all  the 
other  songbirds  of  the  grove  gave  us  a  royal  farewell. 

The  start  and  arrival  of  the  diligencia  were  the  events  of  the  day 
in  Granada  and  at  that  early  hour  a  crowd  had  collected  in  front  of 
the  posada  where  the  gaudy  vehicle  stood.  Fantastic  mules,  two  fan- 
tastic men  and  a  fantastic  boy  completed  the  equipment. 

There  was  a  little  cramped  seat  back  of  the  driver  and  tempted 
by  the  freshness  of  the  morning  air  you  applied  for,  and  obtained  it. 
At  half -past  four  a  ladder  was  placed  against  the  coach  and  we 
clambered  to  our  places.  The  Mayoral  blew  a  long  blast  upon  his 
horn,  the  driver  gave  a  succession  of  ear-splitting  cracks  of  his  whip, 
every  bell  on  the  ten  mules  jingled  and  jangled  and  away  we  gal- 
loped through  the  noisy,  roughly  paved  streets. 

The  driver's  management  of  his  team  became  at  once  a  source  of 
interest  and  amusement  to  us.  The  mules  had  the  most  euphonious 
names,  and  when  the  driver  was  not  talking  to  the  conductor  he  was 
talking  to  the  mules;  encouraging,  scolding  or  arguing  with  them 
upon  their  conduct,  he  reeled  off  their  soft,  pretty  sounding  names 
one  after  another,  and  every  mule  when  its  name  was  spoken  re- 
sponded by  some  motion  of  the  ears,  or  tail,  or  both,  that  was  most 
entertaining.  When  a  mule  out  of  reach  of  the  long  whip  shirked 
its  work,  down  would  come  upon  its  head  or  back  a  sharp,  little  stone 
taken  from  a  pile  lying  at  the  feet  of  the  driver. 

When  we  reached  the  open  country  we  met  cavalcades  bringing 
in  merchandise  and  supplies  for  the  city  markets.  Mules  and  donkeys, 
their  panniers  laden  with  fruit,  flowers  and  vegetables.  Poultry,  tied 
at  the  feet  by  the  dozen  and  swung  heads  down  over  a  donkey's 
back ;  poor  little  lambs  bleating  piteously,  three  or  four  placed  across 
the  back  of  a  mule  or  donkey  with  their  feet  tied  together  underneath. 
The  muleteers  in  charge  of  the  cavalcades,  would  probably  have 
laughed  to  hear  of  a  "Society  for  the  prevention  of  cruelty  to  ani- 
mals," but  they  were  a  picturesque  lot,  in  their  broad-brimmed  som- 
breros, red  sashes  and  leather  leggins  and  gaiters. 

Down  the  bridle  paths  of  steep  hillsides  other  cavalcades  were 
coming.  Strings  of  mules  and  donkeys,  their  tinkling  bells  faintly 
heard,  and  the  long  defiles  but  dimly  seen  through  the  clouds  of  dust 
that  enveloped  them. 

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amNHHiiiiiiiiiniiiiHiimiiiiiiHiiMiiinininiiHiniHiinimnniiiimwniminiHMiHntiiitiniiiiiiiinniHiiuinniiiiiiinniitiiiimiiiiniHHHiiiiininitntimiiiiiinitiiiiiiimn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiHiiinMiiiiniiiHHiriMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiHninuiMMiHuiiniiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiuiiiiuiiiiiiMiiiiniiHiiiuiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii^ 

As  the  day  wore  on  the  heat  and  dust  became  a  torment  and  we 
were  glad  when  at  eleven  o'clock  the  great  white  Cathedral  of  Jaen 
came  into  view.  The  town  lying  at  the  foot  of  a  bare,  abrupt  moun- 
tain was  most  unattractive.  The  diligencia  stopped  in  the  market 
place,  and  we  followed  the  other  passengers  to  a  posada  for  dinner. 
The  fare  was  the  plainest,  and  poorest  possible.  A  rank-tasting, 
rank-smelling  stew  of  goat's  flesh,  poor,  sour  bread,  poor,  sour  wine, 
and  garhanzas — small  peas — on  which  we  made  our  dinner.  Two 
pretty  young  girls  with  flowers  in  their  hair  waited  at  table  and 
exchanged  rude  jokes  with  the  rough  men  they  served. 

We  went  into  the  handsome  Cathedral.  The  cool  air  and  dim 
light  were  grateful  and  refreshing  after  the  morning's  heat  and  dust 
and  glare. 

An  hours'  rest  and  we  resumed  our  journey.  Finding  the 
herlina  was  not  occupied  you  arranged  for  it  with  the  mayoral  saying 
that  the  luxury  of  being  able  to  stretch  out  your  legs,  would  be  worth 
the  diff'erence  in  cost,  for  after  the  first  half  hour  we  had  found  the 
little  seat  on  top  thoroughly  uncomfortable. 

At  frequent  intervals  through  the  day  we  met  members  of  the 
Guardia  Civile,  mounted  police  wearing  long  cloaks,  peaked  caps,  and 
carrying  lances.  Always  two  together,  they  looked  as  though  they 
might  have  stepped  from  the  frame  of  a  Velasquez  picture. 

The  long  day  had  been  tiresome  and  tedious.  In  a  perfect  whirl- 
wind of  fine  white  dust  we  had  driven  through  a  barren,  treeless, 
hideous  region,  but  before  we  reached  Menjibar  at  half -past  five, 
where  we  were  to  join  the  railroad,  the  country  became  attractive. 
Fine  specimens  of  the  cork  oak,  and  beautiful  flowers.  Tree  poppies 
with  hearts  of  gold,  a  very  riot  of  honeysuckle  and  tall  thistles 
bearing  amidst  their  gray-green  spines  immense  flowers  of  wonderful 
blue;  but  over,  and  above  all  was  the  glory  of  the  oleander,  blooming 
everywhere  in  wild  profusion;  in  the  dry  bed  of  streams,  on  hillsides 
and  in  valleys,  the  tall,  slender  trees  with  their  exquisitely  colored 
flowers  were  a  dream  of  beauty. 

"Where  oleanders  flush'd  the  bed 
Of  silent  torrents,  gravel  spread,"  you  quoted. 

Memorizing  bits  of  prose  and  poetry  had  since  our  earliest 
acquaintance  been  a  pleasant  pastime  with  us,  and  when  you  repeated 
Tennyson's  lines  on  the  oleander,  which  I  knew  so  well,  I  turned  to 
you  and  said, 

"I  always  commit  to  memory  more  easily  and  readily  than  you, 
why  is  it  then  that  with  apt  quotation  you  are  quicker  and  readier?" 

"Am  I  ?"  you  asked  indifl'erently. 

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iMiiiiininiiiHniiiiNiuiiiiiiiHnHiuiiNiiMtiniiiiiiHtiiiiiiiniHiiiiiniiiiiiiimHmninimnmMiniiiiiiHuiiiiwiHiiiiiiiiMniiiiuiHHuniiMiniiriniHiminimiiiminiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

aiiiiiiiitHiinMnMrmiiriinininiuiiiiHitiiMnMiiiiiiiniiiMiiiniiiiiiiiiiiimHniiiMMiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiwiiiiiinimiiuiiiniiniiiiiriiiHiitiiiiiiiiiiunniiiinmimmiumH 

"You  know  you  are  and  I  would  like  to  know  the  reason.  Is  it 
genius?"    I  continued  after  a  pause. 

You  looked  at  me  and  smiled,  then  turned  your  eyes  upon  the 
country  through  which  we  were  passing. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  musingly,  ''it  surely  must  he  genius/* 

Then  you  laughed  outright — a  long  merry  peal  of  laughter, 
saying, 

"What  funny  ideas  you  do  get  into  that  dear  little  head  of 
yours." 

And  memory!  what  a  wonderful  thing  is  memory,  that  such  a 
fugitive  bit  of  talk  should  dwell  in  it  forever  and  forever! 

Of  Menjibar  we  saw  nothing  but  the  long,  low  shed,  on  a  bank 
of  the  Guadalquiver  where  we  took  the  train.  At  midnight  every  one 
was  turned  out  of  the  cars  to  walk  across  the  dry,  wide  bed  of  a  river, 
the  bridge  having  been  condemned  as  unsafe  many  months  before. 
At  four  o'clock  next  morning  we  again  changed  cars  and  trains,  for 
what  reason  we  could  not  learn.  It  had  been  a  most  uncomfortable 
journey.  About  noon  we  reached  the  huerta — meaning  a  fruit 
orchard — which  surrounds  Valencia.  In  the  highest  state  of  culti- 
vation, and  well  irrigated,  there  seemed  no  limit  to  its  production. 
Fields  of  rice  and  grain,  lucerne,  vegetables,  and  in  addition  to  the 
fig,  orange,  lemon,  olive  and  almond  that  we  had  seen  in  other  fertile 
regions  of  Spain,  here  were  peach,  pear,  apricot,  cherry  and  quince 
and  every  tree  was  abloom.  It  was  a  wonderful  and  beautiful  picture 
of  fertility.  Sometimes  the  branches  of  orange  and  other  fruit  trees 
swept  the  car  windows  as  we  passed,  scattering  in  clouds  the  fragrant 
blossoms. 

A  Spanish  gentleman  traveling  in  our  compartment  told  you 
that  in  the  huerta,  lucerne  was  mown  fifteen  times  in  the  course  of  a 
year,  and  that  every  product  grown  there  yielded  in  like  proportion. 

At  four  in  the  afternoon  we  reached  Valencia  "after  one  of  the 
most  sultry,  exhausting  days  I  ever  experienced"  my  ever  ready 
pencil  wrote. 

After  a  refreshing  half  hour  at  the  Fonda  del  Cid,  we  strolled 
out  on  the  glorietta,  a  pleasant  promenade,  with  trees,  flowers  and 
fountains.  It  was  the  fashionable  hour  and  the  promenade  was 
crowded.  We  both  remarked  upon  the  large  number  of  very  pretty 
girls  with  parents  or  duennas. 

The  following  morning  before  our  breakfast,  at  the  suggestion 
of  an  agreeable  Valencia  lady  we  went  to  the  market.  The  display 
of  fruit,  flowers  and  vegetables  was  fine,  and  such  quantities  of  snails 

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«iiiniiiniinHiiiiiniiiiiiHinitiiiHiiiiHniiiiiiiMntiniiiiiniitiiiniiiiiiuiniiuniHiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiiHiHiHiiiniiiuiniiiHiiuiiiiHiHiiiHiiiimiiiraiuimiiiiminiiiHi^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

niiiiiiiiiniiniiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiitiMiHiiiNnuiiiHMitiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiHiiiHiHiHiiiHiiniiHiiiiiiiuiiiuiiiiHiMMUMiiniHHiiniiiiiHiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiuHimi^ 

and  frogs;  but  the  most  interesting  thing  to  us  were  the  ladies  doing 
their  marketing — with  maids  beside  them  carrying  baskets — and  the 
lively,  friendly  chatter  and  bargaining  between  them  and  the  pictur- 
esque market  men  and  women. 

In  the  afternoon  we  started  out  for  a  ride  in  a  tartina.  A  queer, 
narrow,  two  wheeled  vehicle  with  a  hood  over  the  top,  drawn  by  one 
horse — the  driver  sat  on  a  little  seat  projecting  from  the  cart,  his  feet 
resting  on  an  iron  rod  attached  to  the  shafts.  Suddenly  a  dry,  hot, 
withering,  dust-laden  wind  began  to  blow — the  hateful  sirocco^  and  to 
escape  it  we  returned  to  the  hotel. 

That  evening  at  six  we  left  Valencia  and  at  half -past  nine  the 
following  morning  reached  Barcelona,  lying  in  a  bare,  brown  plain 
with  a  background  of  bare,  brown  mountains.  We  found  the  streets 
thronged  with  people,  and  the  city  full  of  life  and  animation. 

The  mile  long  Rambla  running  through  the  very  heart  of  the 
town ;  its  beautiful  avenues  of  plane  trees  arched  overhead ;  its  broad 
central  promenade  with  carriageways  on  either  side,  and  all  the 
principal  hotels,  shops,  clubs,  theaters  and  cafes  on  its  enclosing 
streets,  was  the  delightful  center  of  Barcelona  life. 

In  the  upper  end  of  the  Rambla  each  morning  a  bird  and  flower 
market  was  held.  Beautiful  flowers  ridiculously  cheap,  and  hundreds 
of  cages  of  canaries  singing  as  though  they  would  split  their  little 
golden  throats.  The  market  people  were  a  picture.  The  men  all 
wore  short  cotton  capes  of  blue,  yellow  or  crimson,  and  gay  handker- 
chiefs wound  around  their  heads;  the  women  blue  dresses  and  white 
caps.  These  picturesque  beings  moving  about  among  their  birds  and 
masses  of  flowers  were  like  the  shifting  colors  of  a  kaleidoscope. 

The  lower  end  of  the  Rambla,  the  fashionable  promenade,  term- 
inated in  a  delightful  terrace  overhanging  the  port. 

In  the  Cathedral  we  found  beautiful  windows  of  old  stained 
glass,  and  in  the  cloisters  orange  trees  of  wonderful  size,  their  im- 
mense boughs  bent  to  the  ground  by  the  weight  of  fruit, — and  there 
was  a  little  grove  of  geraniums,  grown  into  trees, — and  many  foun- 
tains— one  that  we  enjoyed  particularly  was  a  queer  little  equestrian 
statue — a  quaint  little  knight,  on  a  quaint  little  horse  that  spurted 
jets  of  water  from  his  nostrils,  and  had  a  long  jet  of  water  in  place 
of  a  tail. 

We  left  Barcelona  at  seven  in  the  morning  and  three  hours  later 
reached  the  frontier  town  of  Gerona.  There  we  took  a  diligencia  to 
cross  the  Pyrenees.  We  had  spent  a  happy  and  delightful  month  in 
Spain. 

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miHHUiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniMNiiiitiiinuiiiiniinniniiniiniiiiiiiiiniiiniiiiniiiiiiiiiiMiniiiiiiiiiuiMiitiniiHiiiiinnniniHiiiiiMitininiMiiiiiiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

AMiiimiiHiiiniHiinniMiiniiiiiirHiiniiiiiiiiMiiMiniiiiiiHiiHiiiiiiiiitiiuiiiiniiiMiminininiiiniuinnHiHiiiiHiniiuuiiniiiiiiiHiiiiniiiiiiHiiiMiiiiiniinniniinuiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiii^ 

As  our  long  string  of  mules  toiled  up  the  mountain  side,  we 
looked  regretfully  at  the  country  to  which  we  must  say  good-by.  We 
talked  of  the  violent  contrasts  nature  presented  there.  Of  the  deso- 
late, treeless,  hideous,  sun-scorched  plains,  and  the  bare,  bleak  moun- 
tains, furrowed  and  seamed  by  ravines  and  dry  torrent  beds,  of  the 
heat,  the  glare  and  the  dust;  then  of  the  spots  where  Nature  had 
lavished  every  gift  of  beauty,  and  fragrance  and  delicate  air,  with  all 
the  teeming  fertility  that  she  could  bestow. 

Well  over  the  summit  we  came  upon  a  custom  house  and  there 
we  changed  our  Spanish  diligencia  for  a  French  diligence.  I  was 
sorry  to  lose  the  picturesqueness  of  the  former,  but  you  said  that,  to 
your  eyes,  the  latter  looked  much  more  civilized. 

After  a  tiresome  days'  travel  we  reached  Perpignan  at  eleven 
o'clock.  In  our  room  at  the  Hotel  Europe,  we  congratulated  our- 
selves upon  the  prospect  of  a  good  nights'  rest.  I  was  just  falling 
asleep  when  I  was  roused  by  a  bird's  sweet,  mournful,  piercing, 
plaintive  notes,  and  though  so  different  from  the  joyous  song  we  had 
heard  in  the  nightingale-haunted  groves  of  the  Alhambra,  there  was 
no  mistaking  it. 

In  front  of  the  hotel  stood  a  large  tree.  The  wind  was  high  and 
tossed  the  branches,  one  of  which  was  often  blown  against  a  window 
of  our  room,  and  on  that  branch  sat  a  little  feathery  bunch  of  a  bird 
pouring  out  all  the  troubles  of  his  sorrowful  soul  to  the  wild  night 
winds.  I  was  very  tired  and  needed  sleep.  I  thought  of  raising  the 
window  and  driving  him  away,  but  when  I  looked  at  the  forlorn 
little  thing  swaying  \^dth  the  wind,  back  and  forth,  up  and  down, 
grieving  perhaps  for  the  loss  of  his  mate,  I  could  not  find  it  in  my 
heart  to  disturb  him,  so  half  sleeping,  half  waking,  always  conscious 
of  that  sweet,  tender,  plaintive  song,  the  night  wore  away. 

From  Perpignan  to  Nismes  in  seven  hours  through  a  pleasant 
country  of  meadow  and  vineyard.  Settled  our  traps  at  the  Hotel 
Luxembourg  and  went  sightseeing.  Found  Nismes  a  most  delightful 
city,  rich  in  monuments  of  antiquity.  The  ruins  of  an  amphitheater, 
two  city  gates — the  gate  of  Augustus  particularly  fine,  and  the 
Maison  Caree,  a  Corinthian  temple,  a  perfect  gem  of  a  structure, 
containing  a  fine  collection  of  pictures. 

There  were  lovely  walks,  the  loveliest  along  a  clear  stream,  under 
splendid  trees  to  a  park.  There  we  found  a  beautiful  tower,  "erected 
to  the  glory  of  Augustus." 

The  following  day,  the  first  of  May  we  drove  fifteen  miles 
through  a  delightful  country  to  the  Pont  du  Gard,  a  grand  Roman 

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MmiiiiHiHniiiirnNiiiHnnHHmHiiniMiiniiuniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiMHHiuiiiimiHiHHiriiinirniiiwuitiiMiiHiiiiiinniiiiiimiiiHiiiHiiiiiiiiMiiiiitiiininiiMniiuiiiiiMHiHiiiiuiNiiniin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

gnmiiuHiiiiuiiHiiHHiHiHuiuiiniuiiiiiuiiHiuniiiiumiwiwuHiiuuiiuiiuuiimuiHuiiiuiiiiniiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiuuiiiimiiiniiiHuiniiiiiHiiiniiiiiiiiuiNiniiniiiiii^ 

aqueduct  built  across  the  valley  of  the  Gardon.  One  hundred  and 
eighty  feet  high,  in  hewn  stones  uncemented,  arch  upon  arch  in  three 
tiers,  the  upper  row  hollowed  out  for  the  passage  of  water,  which  it 
was  still  carrying  as  it  had  done  continuously  since  its  erection. 

We  left  Nismes  eight  o'clock  the  following  morning  and  two 
hours  later  passed  through  Tarascon,  where  Tartarin  the  mighty 
hunter  lived.  Another  hour  and  we  were  at  Avignon.  High  on  a 
hill  we  saw  the  Palace  of  the  Popes,  so  immense  that  it  looked  like 
a  walled  city.  You  reminded  me  that  we  were  near  Vaucluse,  and 
the  garden  where  Petrarch  first  saw  the  lovely  Laura  for  whom  he 
sighed  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

We  reached  Lyons  at  six  o'clock  and  found  the  city  panicky 
with  excitement.  Taking  advantage  of  election  day  the  Red  Repub- 
licans had  begun  by  rioting,  and  ended  by  taking  possession  of  the 
Prefecture.  In  the  effort  made  by  the  regular  troops  to  dislodge 
them,  thirty  persons  had  been  killed.  In  the  night  a  frenzied  mob 
passed  the  hotel  shouting,  shrieking  and  howling — shrill  voices  of 
women  mingling  with  hoarse  cries  of  men.  It  was  a  hideous,  terrify- 
ing sound  that  came  from  those  human  throats!  They  were  insur- 
gents come  from  another  conflict  with  troops,  in  which  twenty  of 
their  number  had  been  killed. 

After  breakfast  we  went  to  the  hotel  porter  to  ask  directions 
for  reaching  the  Museum  of  Fine  Arts.  "Monsieur  will  see  no  pictures 
today"  he  answered,  and  then  we  learned  that  all  public  buildings 
and  museums  were  closed  and  guarded.  The  Cathedral  was  near 
by,  but  even  there  we  found  soldiers  at  the  door.  We  left  the  in- 
hospitable place  at  six  in  the  evening  and  reached  Geneva  at  mid- 
night. 

The  bridges,  Rosseau's  Island,  the  tree-lined  streets,  the  Cath- 
edral, the  monuments,  the  shops — all  were  objects  of  interest.  Shop 
windows  full  of  wood  carving  and  embroidery — shop  windows  full 
of  watches.    Geneva,  you  said,  was  like  a  vast  jeweler's  shop. 

We  went  to  the  Castle  of  Chillon,  spent  an  afternoon  at  Ferney 
and  devoted  two  days  to  Vevey,  Montreux  and  Lausanne — places 
that  Rosseau,  Voltaire,  Gibbon,  Byron  and  others  had  made  famous 
— and  Nature  had  made  them  beautiful. 

With  a  background  of  sharp,  splendid  mountains  the  towns 
dotted  the  shore  of  the  Lake,  interspersed  by  turreted  castles,  villas 
and  terraced  gardens.  Sailing  on  the  clear,  blue  waters  were  fleets  of 
feluccas — little  barks  with  two  white,  lateen  sails,  that  looked  like 
birds  skimming  over  the  surface  of  the  Lake. 

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iiiiiiiiHiiiinimiiniiiiiuiHiiiHiitiirMHHiiiiiiiiiiimiininirniHiitiiiiinuiiiiiiiiiiiiHimmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiinnnrniiiiiiinMJniininiiiiiiinriiinniinim 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

RiiiiiiiuiuniHHiiiniiiiimuMiiiiiuiiiiiiriirnniniNiiiiiiiiiiiMiniiiiiiimiiiiiiMmmiiiriHiiiiiiiiiininniiuniiriniiiiiriuuiniiimiiiiiiinininiiHininiiiiiiiiniMinniiu 

In  the  distance  was  that  "Monarch  of  Mountains,"  glorious 
Mont  Blanc,  its  snowy  mantle  dazzling  white  under  the  sun,  and 
faintly  pink  in  the  evening  glow. 

We  were  walking  one  afternoon  in  a  lovely  bit  of  woodland 
back  of  Vevey,  when  to  our  delight  we  heard  a  cuckoo  calling.  A 
cuckoo!  that  "Darling  of  the  Spring!"  We  wanted  to  see  the  bird 
and  spent  an  hour  in  search  of  him,  always  following  the  direction 
from  which  we  thought  the  "twin  notes"  came,  but  never  getting  any 
nearer. 

At  last  you  said,  "Come  along,  we  must  give  it  up,  and  ask  with 
Wordsworth," 

"O  cuckoo,  shall  I  call  thee  bird, 
Or  but  a  wandering  voice?" 

And  that  was  what  it  seemed  to  be  "a  wandering  voice,  an  in- 
visible thing."  Long  after  we  had  left  the  woodland  behind,  we  heard 
"the  two  fold  shout  at  once  far  off  and  near." 

In  the  small  town  of  Sierre,  at  midnight,  we  took  a  diligence 
to  cross  the  Alps  by  the  Simplon  Pass.  It  was  quite  light  at  three 
in  the  morning  when  we  reached  Brieg,  the  beginning  of  the  Pass 
where  we  enjoyed  a  good  substantial  breakfast.  We  had  seats  beside 
the  driver  and  what  a  delightful  experience  it  was.  Dear!  Four 
horses  and  two  postillions,  one  on  each  of  the  leaders.  Air  like 
champagne.  Our  hearts  full  of  happiness!  Ah  me!  what  a  day  it 
was ! 

Glorious  views  of  snow  clad  Alps  and  the  beautiful  Valley  of 
the  Rhone,  alternating  with  places  where  the  mountains  were  so 
crowded  together  that  we  could  not  see  beyond  the  gorge  we  were  in. 
Glaciers,  with  streams  of  water  rushing  from  beneath;  cliffs  project- 
ing overhead ;  gloomy  yawning  abysses  in  whose  depths  we  heard,  and 
had  glimpses  of  foaming  torrents;  a  succession  of  galleries,  where 
the  road  was  cut  through  solid  rock  with  apertures  made  to  admit  the 
light;  the  wild,  romantic  Ravine  of  the  Gondo,  with  its  lovely  water- 
falls, terminating  in  a  gorge  with  perpendicular  cliffs  2,000  feet 
high  on  either  side;  the  small  stone  houses  at  frequent  intervals, 
numbered,  and  marked  "Refuge" — asylums  for  the  wayfarer  when 
overtaken  by  snow  or  storm,  and  bridges  that  looked  too  frail  to 
bear  our  weight. 

What  a  succession  of  thrills  and  delights  and  interest  the  entire 
Pass  was  to  us!  We  saw  Nature  in  many  varying  aspects  that  day. 
Surpassingly  lovely,  grand,  gloomy  and  terrible.    Perhaps  the  most 

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iiHiiiMiiiiiiiiMiiiuiiiiMiinniiiiiMiitiiiiiHiHiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiuinnimiiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiimminiiiiimniniiiiiiuiiiiiiHUNiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiHiiiiniM 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

■niiHiiiMiiiiMiiiiniiiiniiiiiiHniininininniuMiininiiiiimitiiiiiiiiniiiimiuiiiimHinmiiiiiimmimimiiiiiiiHminHniuiimiiiimiHiiUMiiinii 

terrible,  were  the  repulsive  looking  beggars  that  followed  us  from 
Brieg  to  the  summit,  all  suffering  from  the  hideous,  disfiguring 
goitre.  They  easily  kept  up  with  the  diligence  and  on  whichever 
side  we  looked  we  saw  those  dreadful,  afflicted  beings. 

At  the  summit  there  was  a  Cross  and  a  Hospice.  There,  clumsy 
wooden  shoes  made  from  the  trunk  of  a  tree  grooved  to  fit  were  put 
on  the  back  wheels.  The  descent  from  one  gorge  to  another  over  the 
narrow  zigzag  road,  often  skirting  the  very  edge  of  a  precipice,  with 
walls  of  rock  projecting  above  and  a  thunder  of  torrents  below  was 
exciting  enough. 

We  soon  left  all  traces  of  snow  behind  and  when  we  reached  the 
Italian  custom  house  we  were  in  the  midst  of  verdure  and  wooded 
hills.  Winding  in  and  out  among  them,  we  had  frequent  glimpses 
of  lovely  Lake  Maggiore.  Then  came  the  pretty  town  of  Domo 
d'  Ossola.  Its  broad  streets  lined  with  trees  and  full  of  people — its 
pretty  houses,  painted  in  soft  tones  of  yellow,  gray  or  red  looked 
very  cheerful. 

For  two  hours  our  road  ran  along  the  beautiful  shore  of  the 
Lake  and  looking  back  we  could  see  the  snowy  heads  of  the  Simplon 
Pass.    At  nine  in  the  evening  the  diligence  put  us  down  at  Arona. 

The  following  morning  we  had  a  pleasant  sail  on  the  Lake, 
stopping  at  Isola  Bella,  the  most  famous  of  the  group  of  Borromean 
Islands.  The  gardens  and  palace — for  centuries  a  summer  residence 
of  the  famous  Borremeo  family — occupied  the  entire  Island.  The 
gardens  were  laid  out  in  a  succession  of  terraces  that  formed  a 
pyramid,  and  rose  to  a  great  height.  The  terraces  were  adorned 
with  statues  and  were  bright  with  flowers. 

In  the  afternoon  we  went  to  Milan — three  hours  by  train.  We 
enjoyed  the  Plain  of  Lombardy,  cultivated  like  a  garden.  Mulberry 
trees,  the  leaves  of  which  would  feed  silk- worms — "every  tree  wedded 
to  a  twining  vine,"  and  the  vines  led  from  one  tree  to  another,  with 
grain  growing  beneath  making  a  charming  picture  of  summer,  in 
vivid  green. 

Reaching  Milan  we  went  to  the  Hotel  de  France,  near  the 
Cathedral;  the  glorious,  magnificent,  unique  Cathedral!  that  Tenny- 
son thus  describes, 

"O!  the  chanting  quires. 
The  giant  windows'  blazon'd  fires. 
The  height,  the  space,  the  gloom,  the  glory!" 

Very  early  next  morning,  finding  me  awake,  and  that  I  had 
slept  well,  you  said. 

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wiHnmiimiiuiiniininiiiinuinuiMiiiHMiiniuiiimiiimnMtHiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiitiiMiiiiiiiuiiiiiMiiiiiiinmiinminmiiiiiuniMimiinMniHiinnmHiuiniiiim 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

«iHiitiiiiiiiiiniHiniiiiiinniiniiiinniniiiiiiMiiimuuiniiMmiiHiiiiiliiliiiiiiiiiiiiimiHuiiiniiuininiiHiiiiMinriumiiiinnininiiiiniiuiiiiniiiiniiiiiminmi^ 

"How  would  you  like  to  climb  the  roof  at  break  of  day  and  see 
the  sun-smitten  Alps?" 

"Oh"  I  answered,  "I  knew  you  would  want  to  follow  Tennyson 
to  the  Cathedral  roof,"  and  there  we  went  before  our  breakfast. 
Towards  the  Alps  the  horizon  was  misty,  but  we  had  a  good  view  of 
the  Pyrenees. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  we  climbed  to  the  Cathedral  roof 
again  and  saw  the  Alps,  the  great  mountain  rising  from  the  "sun- 
smitten"  range.    At  once  the  lines  of  Tennyson  came  from  your  lips. 

"How  faintly  flushed,  how  phantom  fair, 
Was  Monte  Rosa,  hanging  there." 

And  what  a  wonderful  and  interesting  place  the  Cathedral  roof 
was!  with  hundreds  of  turrets  and  thousands  of  pinnacles,  each 
crowned  with  a  figure  of  heroic  size  and  beautiful  finish.  A  veritable 
forest  of  statues!  The  plain  below,  divided  in  squares  by  mulberry 
trees,  and  dotted  with  white  villages  was  a  pretty  sight. 

We  found  many  beautiful  pictures  scattered  about  in  the  differ- 
ent Art  Galleries,  and  in  the  refectory  of  a  Convent,  saw  the  fine, 
but  almost  obliterated  fresco  of  The  Last  Supper  by  di  Vinci.  We 
admired  the  white  marble  arch  adorned  with  statues  and  crowned  by 
Peace  and  Victory,  that  marked  the  terminus  of  the  Simplon  Road; 
also  the  unfinished  Victor  Emmanuel  Gallery. 

On  the  morning  we  were  to  leave  Milan  for  the  Lake  of  Como 
a  steady  rain  was  falling  that  persisted  for  three  days  and  nights 
without  pause.  Standing  at  a  window  one  afternoon,  looking  down 
upon  a  table-land  of  moving  umbrellas; 

"Let  us  take  a  cab  and  go  to  La  Scala  Theater — I  should  like 
to  see  the  interior,"  you  said. 

What  a  time  you  had  making  the  man  in  charge  of  the  Theater 
understand  that  we  wanted  to  look  within — he  assuring  you  there 
was  nothing  there  to  see.  At  last  he  opened  a  door  and  we  peered 
into  the  vast,  dark,  musty-smelling  place.  Then  you  asked  for 
"luce,  luce"  but  there  was  no  response  until  you  struck  a  match.  That 
illumined  the  man's  brain,  and  with  a  "Si,  si  Signore"  he  disappeared, 
returning  with  a  small  candle  and  by  its  feeble  rays  we  saw  the 
interior  of  the  far-famed  La  Scala  Theater  with  its  six  tiers  of  boxes. 

A  fourth  rainy  morning  and  even  you,  my  dear  Philosopher,  had 
no  words  of  cheer  or  comfort,  but  towards  noon  the  sky  cleared  and 
we  started  for  the  Lake.  At  Como,  unfortunately  we  had  two  hours 
to  wait  for  a  boat. 

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•iMiiiiiiiiiiiiiniMnutiiinrinnMniiMniitiiirnniinininiiiniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimmiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiniiriHiiiiiiiiiiinnininiiiiniiiiMiiHiiiiiiiNiiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiitiiiuiiiiiiitiiiiiitiiniii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

•uiiiiiiniiiiiiiiuiiniiiiiininniiiiiininnniiiininiiitiiiiiiiiNiiiniiiniimiiniiiiiNiimiiiiiiiiiiiiinuiimuiiiiinninriiiniiHiiiiiininiiniiiiiHniiimiiiimiiirHii 

We  looked  into  the  handsome  marble  Cathedral,  saw  a  remark- 
able, old  church  and  then  wandered  about  the  streets. 

Como  at  that  time  was  quite  a  center  for  the  manufacture  of 
silk.  The  different  mills  had  shops  in  which  to  show  their  products, 
and  the  display  in  the  windows  was  so  tempting  that  you  could  not 
resist  it  and  said, 

"I  am  going  to  buy  you  some  silk  for  a  dress." 

I  objected — I  did  not  need  it  and  did  not  want  it. 

As  we  were  both  persistent,  you  ended  the  discussion,  by  saying, 

"Very  well!  I  am  going  to  buy  the  silk  and  if  the  shade  does 
not  please,  you  have  only  yourself  to  blame." 

Then  together  we  made  the  selection — a  very  pretty  shade ;  light 
rather  than  medium. 

Really  mine,  I  felt  great  pride  in  the  possession,  and  after  it  was 
packed  away  in  my  trunk  I  took  many  a  sly,  admiring  look  at  it, 
decided  how  it  should  be  made,  and  could  almost  see  myself  in  it. 

One  circumstance  after  another  postponed  the  making  up  of  the 
silk,  and  when  two  years  later  a  fashion  plate  was  chosen,  and  a  dress- 
maker engaged,  sad  to  relate,  every  fold  of  the  silk  was  so  badly  cut 
that  it  was  actually  worthless,  the  inner  folds,  where  the  pressure  was 
greatest  falling  apart  when  opened.  What  seemed  richness  of 
texture  was  produced  by  dye  that  had  destroyed  the  fabric,  and  all 
those  yards  of  silk  that  were  to  go  for  my  adornment,  went  into 
patches  for  quilts,  and  dolls'  dresses  for  my  little  friends,  the  half 
yard  between  the  folds  being  in  good  condition. 

From  Como  a  boat  carried  us  in  two  hours  to  Bellagio  where  we 
spent  three  happy,  delicious  days.  Nature  was  at  its  very  best.  The 
nightingales  sang  day  and  night  and  the  flowers  were  wonderful.  In 
the  garden  of  a  villa  stood  a  magnificent  group  of  rhododendron  trees 
of  the  Himalayan  variety — ^the  rhododendron  barbatum — from  35  to 
40  feet  in  height  and  masses  of  lovely  bloom.  Acres  of  shrub  rhodo- 
dendrons and  azaleas  dazzling  in  color,  tree  poppies,  tree  peonies, 
miles  of  wisteria  covered  walls,  lilacs  and  other  flowers  in  endless 
variety. 

On  the  beautiful  mountain  encircled  Lake,  under  bright  awnings, 
rowed  from  one  lovely  spot  to  another,  what  blissful  hours  we  spent, 
Dear  Heart  of  mine!  Past  bold  promontories,  in  and  out  of  little 
bays,  the  shores  dotted  with  villas  and  gardens  where  often  we  saw 
flowers  reflected  in  the  clear  waters,  and  heard  the  song  of  the  night- 

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•iiHiiiHntiiiiniHiiiniiiiniiiiiiHiiinniHiiiiHiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiimiNiiiiiHinniiiinHiiiiiMiiiiiniiiiiiiiinmMiniMitiiinmniiitmiiiiiniinniH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iimiiHiiMnimiiiuiniMiniiininiiiiiJMniinHniNiiniiiiinininnHmniiiimiiiHiiiHiuiiHiHniiiiiiniiiimiiniiiiMiiiuiiMiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiuiiMiiiiiiMiiniu 

ingale;  time  and  again  in  those  heavenly  spots,  one  or  other  of  us, 
would  repeat  Longfellow's  lines, 

"I  ask  myself  is  it  a  dream? 
Will  it  all  vanish  into  air? 
Is  there  a  land  of  such  supreme, 
And  perfect  beauty  anywhere?" 

When  we  left  our  hotel — ^the  Grand  Bretain — at  5  P.  M.  the  sky 
was  overcast,  and  a  wind  had  arisen.  While  waiting  at  the  boat  land- 
ing we  noticed  little  waves  chasing  each  other  over  the  surface  of  the 
Lake  that  for  three  days  had  smiled  and  dimpled  before  our  eyes. 
The  wind  increased,  the  waves  grew,  and  soon  our  little  steamer  was 
rolling  and  pitching  like  a  ship  at  sea  in  a  storm,  while  on  her  small 
deck  sea-sick  passengers  were  standing  at  the  rail  surveying  the 
waters  beneath.  Next  to  me — a  companion  in  misery — was  a  pretty, 
young  German  bride,  and  an  adoring  and  almost  frantic  husband, 
vainly  trying  to  hold  her  head. 

You  came  and  asked,  "Can  I  do  anything  for  you?'* 

I  answered  "Yes,  go  away,  please,  and  let  me  alone — I  can  hold 
my  own  head,"  but  I  did  give  you  my  hat  to  hold. 

Colico  was  a  poor,  mean  little  place,  but  I  was  glad  indeed  to  set 
my  feet  upon  its  solid  ground.  There,  eleven  o'clock  at  night  we  took 
a  diligence  to  cross  the  Alps  by  the  Splugen  Pass.  From  the  first 
gray  streak  of  dawn,  there  was  something  of  beauty  to  delight  the 
eye,  or  some  wonderful  bit  of  Nature's  handiwork  to  marvel  at.  We 
saw  blocks  of  granite  piled  piece  on  piece,  one  on  top  of  another, 
until  the  uppermost  seemed  to  touch  the  very  skies. 

The  Via  Mala  was  a  narrow,  gloomy  gorge,  the  sky  line  broken 
by  rocks  ragged  and  torn,  rising  on  both  sides  to  a  height  varying 
from  1,500  to  2,000  feet,  with  bridges  and  tunnels  and  grooves  cut 
along  the  face  of  the  rock;  and  from  that  grooved  road  we  saw  200 
feet  below,  the  river  Rhine  forced  through  a  fissure  so  narrow  that  at 
times  the  sides  seemed  almost  to  meet — a  boiling,  roaring  torrent, 
foaming  and  struggling  like  an  imprisoned  Giant  to  free  himself! 
It  was  awful  and  wonderful!  Twice  we  crossed  that  wicked  looking 
gorge  on  bridges  that  seemed  all  unequal  to  their  task,  and  caused 
me  to  hold  my  breath  through  fear. 

After  leaving  the  gorge  we  entered  a  long  wooded  ravine  where 
the  waters  of  the  Rhine  fell  in  numberless  lovely  cascades.  As  on  the 
Simplon  Pass  we  had  two  postillions  riding  the  leaders  of  our  team 
of  four  horses,  and  the  same  clumsy  wooden  shoes  fastened  to  the 

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■MiiniinnniiiNiniminiiinHiiiiiiHHiMiiMtnttinitinniiiniininmiiiwiniinmiiiHimimMiiiniMiiiHHniHttnrntinitiiintHiNiriiiinniiiiiiiiimiHnHinmitiHiimiinHiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

•uiiiuiiiiiiuiiiuuuiiiiiiiiniHiiiiniiiiininiiiiiiniiiiiHJiiiiMiiiniiiiimuiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiirtiiinnnNiiiiminiiiiitiiiimiuimiiiiiiiu 

wheels  after  we  had  crossed  the  summit..  We  had  the  same  keen 
appetite  for  the  substantial  three  o'clock  breakfast,  and  enjoyed  the 
mid-day  meal  at  an  Hospice  where  brown-robed,  sad-faced,  sandalled 
monks  gave  us  welcome* 

In  after  years,  carried  through  the  long  tunnels  we  always  talked 
of  the  two  happy  days  in  that  far  off  time  when  we  crossed  the  Alps 
by  diligence  over  the  Simplon  and  Splugen  Passes. 

The  following  morning  we  crossed  Lake  Constanz  to  Lindau  on 
our  way  to  Munich,  stopping  for  two  hours  at  the  old  town  of 
Augsburg.  The  quaint  architecture  and  the  fronts  of  the  houses 
painted  with  family  portraits  and  scenes  depicting  Bible  stories  were 
a  study.  Before  the  "Fugger  Haus,"  a  large  building,  the  home  of 
an  immensely  rich  man,  with  the  entire  facade  an  elaborate  and 
artistic  fresco  we  should  have  liked  to  remain  for  hours. 

We  spent  a  week  in  Munich,  that  delightful  Bavarian  City, 
enjoying  the  noble  collections  of  art,  housed  in  noble  buildings; 
paintings  by  the  old  Masters,  and  of  the  modern  school;  sculpture 
ancient  and  of  a  recent  period;  monuments^  beautiful  fountains, 
statues,  and  the  pleasantly  shaded  streets. 

We  drove  out  to  see  Swanthaler's  statue  of  Bavaria.  By  flights 
of  stairs  within  the  monument  you  reached  the  head  and  waved  your 
hat  to  me  through  an  aperture  in  the  forehead  nearly  100  feet  from 
the  ground.  We  visited  the  Royal  Foundry  and  were  shown  by  the 
manager  the  process  of  casting  the  beautiful  bronze  statues,  so  many 
of  which  adorn  the  City. 

We  went  to  the  beer  gardens !  Our  visit  to  the  Hoff  brauhaus  at 
the  popular  hour!  what  an  experience  it  was!  A  large  hall  where 
over  five  hundred  people  were  seated  at  tables — men,  women,  chil- 
dren and  a  sprinkling  of  strangers,  like  ourselves.  Every  one 
entered  through  a  spacious  ante-room,  took  up  a  stone  mug,  with  a 
metal  lid,  that  held  a  quart,  washed  it  under  a  tap  of  running  water, 
carried  it  to  a  man  who  filled  it  from  a  cask,  paid  for  it  and  then 
found  a  seat  in  the  hall. 

We  sat  diagonally  opposite  each  other;  you  raised  your  stein, 
looked  at  me  and  smiled;  I  understood  that  you  wanted  to  drink  my 
health;  I  smiled  back,  put  up  the  lid  of  my  stein  and  took  a  little  sip 
of  the  bitter,  and  to  me  unpalatable  stuff.  At  once  a  young  woman 
pounced  upon  my  mug  of  beer,  whisked  it  away,  brought  it  back  and 
stood  waiting  beside  me,  I  did  not  know  for  what.  You  tossed  a 
coin  across  the  table  that  paid  for  the  beer  and  gave  the  hateful 
waitress  a  fee.    A  German  sitting  near  me  said, 

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•mtmNiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiuniiiiinMiHiiiiiiiiiiHiiHiiiHiiiiiniiiiiHriiiiiHiiiiHtiiiiiiinHiiiiiiiwiiiiiiiiiinniniiiiiniiHiiiinmmiMiHmHiiHmmiMHiiHimHinmin^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

aHiiuiimiiinmiuHiiiiiiuiiniiiiiuiiiiiiiiininHMiiiiiuiHiniiiiiiiiiiHimuiiiiimiiiiniiiHiiiiiMiiiiiiiiHiMiminiiriiiiinrniiiiiiuiiimiiinniniiiMHHiMin 

"You  left  your  stein  open— that  meant  that  you  wanted  it 
fiUed." 

"But  it  was  full,"  I  answered.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
laughed;  every  one  near  me,  you  included,  laughed,  while  I  was  too 
vexed  to  join  in  the  mirth. 

We  left  Munich  and  our  excellent  hotel — The  Four  Seasons — 
with  regret,  and  journeyed  on  to  Salzburg,  delightfully  situated  on 
both  sides  of  a  pleasant  river,  with  a  background  of  fine  mountains. 
We  walked  up  to  the  Castle — Hohensalzburg — and  saw  the  sun  set 
over  a  country  of  great  beauty. 

The  next  day  was  Whitsunday,  there  called  pinkster  and  ob- 
served as  a  great  holiday.  Ah,  Dear  Heart,  Dear  Heart,  what  a  red 
letter  day  is  was  for  us!  We  drove  to  the  Koenig  See  fifteen  miles 
distant  through  a  lovely  country.  Mountain  streams  fringed  with 
trees,  meadows  gemmed  with  flowers,  wooded  hills,  and  always  be- 
yond, a  mountain  with  radiant  snow-clad  summit. 

The  day  was  glorious,  with  bright  sunshine,  a  fresh  breeze  and 
the  bluest  of  skies  flecked  with  soft,  fleecy  white  clouds.  The  roads 
were  astir  with  peasants  dressed  in  the  picturesque  Tyrolean  costume. 
The  women  and  little  girls  in  white  bodices,  short  full  skirts,  and  red, 
green  or  blue  stockings.  The  men  and  boys  in  short  jackets,  breeches 
that  ended  at  the  knees,  coarse  stockings  that  ended  at  the  ankles,  and 
low,  clumsy  shoes.  Every  man  and  boy  wore  a  high,  green  velvet  hat 
decorated  with  a  cock's  feather  or  a  bunch  of  flowers,  and  every  man, 
and  every  boy  except  those  of  very  tender  years  was  smoking  a 
porcelain  pipe. 

The  large  beer  gardens  we  passed  were  full  of  people,  seated  at 
long  tables  eating  and  drinking  beer,  or  playing  games — dancing 
around  the  May  pole  was  the  prettiest  and  seemed  the  most  popular. 

When  we  reached  the  Koenig  See  we  were  put  down  at  a  boat 
landing  in  charge  of  a  uniformed  Schiffmeister.  The  tariff  arranged, 
he  blew  a  whistle,  and  a  boat  from  the  many  clustered  around,  ap- 
proached, rowed  by  two  comely  young  women  whose  firm,  strong 
arms  were  bare  to  the  shoulders. 

The  great  depth  of  the  Lake  gave  the  clear,  limpid  water  a  deep 
sea-green  hue,  and  gliding  over  the  smooth  surface  we  sat  fairly 
enchanted  by  the  beauty  and  grandeur  around  us.  Walled  in  by 
mountains  that  towered  from  5,000  to  8,000  feet  in  height;  some  rose 
abruptly  from  the  water  and  others  left  a  narrow  strip  of  foreground. 
On  these  small  plateaus  were  buildings  for  the  comfort  and  enter- 
tainment of  mankind.    Most  conspicuous  was  the  hunting  seat  of  the 

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aimimmiMHiiimiMniiHiiiiiDtiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiii iiiniiiiiiiiHiiiiMiiiiiiHUiniiiuiiiinniiiriiititiiniiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiHNiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiHiiiimiHmNiiNininiMmmiiHmniima 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF        MANY 

mMiiniiHmiuiuiiniiniiHiiriiiiiiiiuiniiiiiniMiiuiuiniiinuniiiiniininuuiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiHnniiiiiuiiriiinMiiiinumiMHiuiiinmiuiiiiiiniiiiHiHiiiMnimHiHiimw 

King  of  Bavaria,  in  whose  domain  the  beautiful  Lake  lay.  There 
were  charming  chalets  of  the  Bavarian  nobility,  and  equally  charming 
garden  restaurants  for  the  delectation  of  the  public — all  on  the  waters 
edge  with  trees  and  flowers,  kiosks  and  boat  houses,  they  made  a 
pretty  sight.  Streams  came  hurrying  from  the  hills  to  rest  in  the 
peaceful  Lake,  and  waterfalls  tumbled  joyously  from  heights  above; 
one  particularly  lovely,  fell  over  masses  of  red  rock  a  distance  of 
2,600  feet. 

And  what  a  sociable  Lake  it  was!  From  a  half,  to  a  mile  in 
width;  five  miles  in  length  with  a  graceful  bend,  the  home  of  a  most 
melodious  echo.  Young  men  and  maidens  in  holiday  attire  were 
rowing  in  all  directions  making  the  air  vocal  with  laughter  and  with 
song.  As  we  reached  the  turn  in  the  Lake,  a  young  man  with  a 
clear,  strong  voice  was  singing  a  Swiss  yodel.  He  would  sing  two  or 
three  notes  which  the  echo  would  twice  repeat.  The  effect  w^as  so 
musical  that  we  waited — our  comely  young  women  resting  on  their 
oars — until  the  song  was  ended,  and  the  last  faint  echo  had  died  away. 

Midway  in  our  circuit  of  the  Lake  we  stopped  at  a  delightful 
garden  restaurant  for  lunch.  Did  we  want  trout,  the  smiling  land- 
lord asked,  "ja  wohl,  ja  wohl" — certainly,  certainly — we  answered  in 
unison. 

In  a  large  tank  on  the  margin  of  the  Lake  dozens  of  plump  fish 
were  swimming.  Our  host  netted  one  after  another  until  you  stopped 
him,  I  remarking  that  we  could  never  eat  the  half  of  those  captured. 
Then  we  went  to  a  rose  embowered  arbor  to  rest  and  wait.  Our 
lunch  came,  nicely  served,  the  fish  cooked  to  perfection.  Oh,  those 
trout!  how  delicious  they  were!  and  what  appetites  we  had!  disposing 
of  every  one  that  was  netted  and  served. 

From  the  Lake  we  drove  to  Berchtesgaden,  a  charming  summer 
resort.  Near  by  were  the  Hallein  salt  mines  that  we  were  to  include 
in  our  days'  sightseeing,  although  no  work  would  be  going  on.  Upon 
arrival  we  were  given  dressing-rooms  containing  the  necessary  cloth- 
ing. Trousers  of  leather  and  rubber  cloth,  short  tunic  and  cap  of 
rubber  cloth  and  rubber  shoes.  What  comical  looking  objects  we 
were!  and  how  everybody  laughed  at  every  other  body! 

The  descent  was  made  in  a  most  primitive  way.  Thick,  narrow 
boards  worn  smooth  as  glass  with  props  beneath  led  to  the  regions 
below.  Behind  a  large  man  whose  heavy  gloves  covered  strong 
hands  that  grasped  a  rope  and  were  to  act  as  a  brake,  we  ranged  our- 
selves astride,  upon  the  polished  board,  you  next  to  the  pilot,  I  next 
to  you.    Behind  me  three  ladies;  back  of  them  .their  husbands,  and 

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mmiiiiiinniiniiiiniiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiinniiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimniHinnimiiniiiiiiiiHiiiiiHHiiiiHiinmuniiiiiiiiiiniiiimMnniiiiuiiiiniiiiiiimH^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

niiiHiiiuiniinMiiiuuiiiHiiniiiiioiiiiiiiiininiHiiiiiiiiiuiniiiniiiiiiiiiiiNiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiHiiiiinuiiNiiiiunniiMiiiinitiniuiiiiuiiuiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiniMUHiiiMii^ 

at  the  end,  a  handsome  Austrian  officer.  We  shot  down  the  steep 
indine  of  several  hundred  feet  into  what  seemed  the  very  bowels  of 
the  Earth,  our  way  lighted  only  by  murky  torches.  We  passed  gal- 
leries and  excavations,  and  thankful  that  our  brake  had  not  failed  us, 
reached  our  destination. 

We  were  given  torches  and  like  veritable  gnomes,  went  peering 
about  to  see  the  different  strata  a  guide  called  attention  to. 

We  were  rowed  across  a  small  salt  water  lake,  clambered  up 
ladders,  and  by  a  steep  path  reached  the  exit.  There,  in  dressing- 
rooms  we  found  the  clothing  we  had  taken  off  at  the  entrance  to  the 
mine.    Our  carriage  was  waiting  and  we  were  soon  homeward  bound. 

From  Salzburg  we  returned  to  Munich  and  from  Munich  went 
to  Frankfort;  an  eight  hours  journey  on  a  cold,  rainy  day.  For  six 
days  the  rain  fell  without  intermission.  We  drove  in  the  rain  to  see 
Dannecker's  lovely  statue  of  Ariadne  seated  on  a  tiger;  we  drove  in 
the  rain  to  the  beautiful  Palm  Garden;  we  drove  in  the  rain  past  the 
magnificent  homes  of  the  wealthy  bankers  and  merchants  and  in  the 
rain  we  looked  at  the  statues  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  and  the  Guten- 
berg Monument. 

We  went  to  the  Opera  House  to  hear  Faust.  The  performance 
commenced  two  hours  before  the  set  of  sun.  The  Opera  was  well 
sung.  All  around  us  were  people  taking  keen  enjoyment  in  the 
music  while  eating  a  supper  of  bread,  cheese  and  sausage  which  they 
had  brought.  The  men  drank  beer,  and  when  the  supper  was  finished 
most  of  the  women  fell  to  knitting. 

On  the  seventh  day  although  the  sun  did  not  shine,  no  rain  fell 
and  we  went  to  Hombourg,  famous  for  the  health-giving  waters  of 
its  many  sparkling  brunnen,  and  as  a  place  for  gambling;  the  resort 
of  invalids  and  pleasure  seekers  from  all  parts  of  the  world. 

We  found  the  waters  agreeable  and  the  Cursaal  luxurious.  The 
walls  and  ceilings  of  the  gambling  rooms  were  decorated  with  beauti- 
ful frescoes,  and  the  spacious  reading  rooms  were  bright  with  paint- 
ings and  furnished  in  the  richest  manner,  while  in  the  concert  room 
an  excellent  band  rendered  delightful  music. 

The  play  of  rouge  et  noir  interested  us  very  much.  People 
closely  seated  at  a  long  table,  tense  with  excitement  over  their  play, 
and  back  of  them  a  fringe  of  people  standing;  some  simply  looking 
on,  others  playing  over  the  shoulders  of  those  seated.  Some  distance 
apart  we  watched  the  game  for  a  considerable  time. 

When  you  turned  from  the  table  I  joined  you.     The  inborn 

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>MNiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiHiiiiiitiiiiiii iiiMiiiiiiiiniiuiiiiiiiniunuiHiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiHHiiniiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiirtiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiNiHiMnmnn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiHiHiiiiiiiuiinuiiiiiiiiiiitiiHiiriiuMiiiiiiiiiiiiiniMinininiiiiiiiiiiniiiMiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiuiiiiiiiuiimitiiMniiiiiniuMiuHiiiiiniiiiiiiiuiniiiiiiiiiiH 

instinct  for  gambling  strong  upon  me,  I  asked  coaxingly,  "Wouldn't 

you  like  to  try  your  luck?" 

You  answered  "No,  I  have  no  money  to  lose  in  that  way." 
"But  it  is  such  an  easy  way  to  make  money,"  I  argued,  "I  have 

been  watching  a  woman  who  won  constantly." 

"And  I  have  been  watching  a  man  who  has  lost  constantly,"  you 
replied. 

"Suppose  I  try  my  luck''  said  I. 

But  you,  "No,  come  along!  Dame  Fortune  is  a  fickle  jade.  We 
wont  have  anything  to  do  with  her." 

We  left  Frankfort  and  went  down  the  tame,  little  valley  of  the 
Main  to  Castel  where  we  took  a  Rhine  steamer.  My  first  impression 
of  the  famous  river  was  one  of  disappointment.  The  vine  clad  hills, 
where  every  foot  of  accessible  land  was  cultivated  were  not  so  pretty 
to  look  at  as  wooded  hills,  and  I  took  but  a  luke-warm  interest  in  the 
far-famed  Rhenish  wines  you  told  me  of.  Hockheimer,  Johannis- 
berger,  and  many  another  heimer  and  berger;  not  even  in  Rudes- 
heimer  made  from  grapes  that  Charlemagne  was  said  to  have  intro- 
duced from  Burgundy;  but  when  we  reached  Bingen  "Fair  Bingen 
on  the  Rhine"  and  I  saw  the  Mouse  Tower,  and  we  recalled  Southey's 
poem  of  Bishop  Hatto,  I  was  all  enthusiasm. 

From  there,  the  river  narrowed  and  became  winding.  On  both 
sides  were  prettily  wooded  hills,  many  rising  abruptly  to  a  consider- 
able height  and  crowned  with  castles  and  towers ;  restored,  or  in  ruins, 
all  delightfully  picturesque  and  all  connected  in  some  way  with  his- 
tory, romance  or  legend.  Tales  of  marauders  and  lovers;  tales  of 
daring  and  valor;  of  devotion  and  revenge;  of  loyalty  and  treachery. 

Ah!  Dear!  how  we  did  enjoy  reading  those  fascinating  stories 
as  we  passed  one  after  another  the  tree-embowered  masses  of  masonry 
where  the  scenes  were  laid.  Rising  from  the  water  were  the  com- 
manding Rocks  of  the  Lurlei,  home  of  the  Nymph  who  lured  sailors 
and  fishermen  to  their  destruction  and  we  recalled  lines  of  Heine's 
poem  and  his  charming  word  picture  of  the  Nymph  combing  her 
golden  hair. 

We  left  the  steamer  at  Lahnstein  and  by  train  a  half  hour  ride 
up  the  pretty  valley  of  the  Lahn  to  Ems,  a  delightful  watering- 
place,  the  favorite  summer  resort  of  King  William  and  other  crowned 
heads. 

We  went  to  Ems  for  two  or  three  days,  and  remained  over  three 
weeks,  a  prey  to  what  Tennyson  called  "the  needful  trouble  of  the 
rain."    During  the  time  of  our  forced  stay  there  were  only  two  rain- 

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wiitHiHuiiiiiunHiiiiwiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiitiMiiHinniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiWHiniiiimiHiiHiiiHHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinuiniiriHiiiiniiitHiiinMiiniiiiiiriiiimninimiMiiiiM 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

miiMiimiuiimHimiiiuHiiiMiiniiiMMiiinnniMiriuHnNiiiiniiiiriuiininiiMiiNiiiiiiiniimiiiiHiuiiiiniiiiiiiiniiiiniiiMuiMiminniiniiiiinuuniiinniniiiiiuMiuniiiiimtiii^ 

less  days.  On  both  those  days  we  took  long  rambles  on  the  wooded 
hillsides  gathering  bunches  of  lily  of  the  valley  that  grew  in  great 
profusion,  and  afterwards  got  together  our  belongings  thinking  that 
tomorrow  we  would  journey  on,  but  on  the  morrow  we  would  look 
out  upon  another  deluge. 

At  the  comfortable  Cursaal  we  had  access  to  all  the  leading 
Continental  papers  and  we  scanned  their  pages  day  after  day  hoping 
to  find  some  place  where  the  sun  was  shining,  but  no !  it  was  rain,  rain 
everywhere  rain,  so  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  be  content.  Every 
morning  we  put  on  our  Mackintosh  coats  and  rubber  shoes,  then 
under  umbrellas  went  to  the  popular  spring,  where  protected  by 
arcades,  from  half -past  six  to  eight  o'clock  we  mingled  with  the 
throng,  drank  the  waters,  walked  and  listened  to  the  music.  There 
was  an  excellent  circulating  library  from  which  for  a  small  sum  you 
secured  the  privilege  of  taking  books;  afternoons  and  evenings  there 
was  music  in  the  Cursaal  and  so  with  music,  books  and  games  of 
chess,  we  passed  the  weeks  of  that  "sunless  June"  in  such  a  way  that 
ever  after  they  were  a  sunny  memory. 

July  4  and  your  birthday,  my  Beloved.  We  took  a  steamer  at 
Lahnstein,  where  we  had  disembarked  and  continued  down  the 
Rhine;  past  Ehrenbreitstein,  an  immense  mass  of  rock  converted  by 
man  into  an  impregnable  fortress;  then  a  succession  of  those  charm- 
ing, castle-crowned  hills  each  with  its  story  of  fact  or  fancy  until  we 
came  to  the  last — the  renowned  Drachenfels,  bearing  on  its  summit 
ruins  of  the  castle  that  had  served  the  "Robbers  of  the  Rhine"  as 
fortress  and  watchtower,  of  which  Byron  wrote, 

"The  castled  crag  of  Drachenfels 
Frowns  o'er  the  wide  and  winding  Rhine." 

We  passed  Bonn,  noted  for  its  University;  after  that  until  we 
reached  Cologne  the  river  banks  were  flat  and  uninteresting. 

But  what  a  river  it  is!  that  noble  river  of  the  Fatherland!  the 
storied  Rhine!  No  wonder  the  Germans  love  it  and  sing  its  praise; 
with  its  vine-clad  hills,  its  islands  and  tributaries,  its  crags  and  castles 
and  towers  and  all  the  romantic,  legendary  lore  connected  with  it ! 

At  cologne  we  had  completed  a  large  circuit  of  the  Continent. 
We  paid  our  respects  to  the  grand  Cathedral  and  the  following  day 
went  to  Amsterdam. 

Germany  and  Holland,  how  unlike  they  were!  The  queer,  un- 
gainly costumes  of  the  people,  the  network  of  canals,  the  herds  of 
handsome  cattle  standing  knee  deep  in  the  lush  grass,  the  blooming 
flower  beds  around  the  small  country  homes  with  red  tiles  on  their 

Page  One  Hundred  Fifty-five 


niiinininmiuiinniiiiinniiiMmiinHinninniiiiiiiinuiiiniiinniiniiimmiiiimiiiiHiMMiiiiiiiiniiniiimnnniiiuiiMinnMiirniiiiiiiiiiiniininiiiniiiiiiiiimMniiMi^^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiiinHiiiiHinniiiminuiimHiiiiiHiniiiiuiiMUiinuiininimiuiiininimiiiiiniiHiHiiiniiiiiiHiiHniiiiiuiiiinnniiuiinniHniiiittiuiiiiiunininitiiHiiiiiniiniiiu 

pointed  roofs  and  the  long,  gaunt,  restless  arms  of  many  windmills 
made  a  picture  strange  to  our  eyes. 

Amsterdam,  with  one  hundred  canals,  full  of  shipping,  and  three 
hundred  bridges,  captivated  us  by  the  novelty  of  its  attractions. 
Long  rows  of  high  brick  houses  with  gabled  fronts;  above  the  attic 
windows  a  projecting  beam  to  which  a  rope  and  pulley  were  attached. 
We  watched  the  working  of  those  puUies  with  interest  and  amuse- 
ment for  everything  to  provision  a  house  was  taken  in  through  the 
attic  window.  Large  packages  and  small,  barrels,  kegs,  furniture  and 
commodities  of  every  sort  and  kind ;  at  the  sides  of  many  houses  small 
mirrors  were  attached  that  reflected  the  streets  and  the  people  that 
were  passing. 

The  streets  on  which  the  wealthy  residents  lived  were  unique  and 
delightful,  their  handsome  houses  facing  the  broad  tree-fringed 
canals.  Plying  on  these  canals  from  place  to  place  were  fine  long 
boats,  the  homes  of  the  owners  and  their  families.  Spic  and  span  and 
very  attractive  were  the  decks.  The  low  brass  railings  that  complete- 
ly surrounded  them  were  polished  to  the  highest  degree  of  brightness 
and  long  narrow  beds  of  tulips  gave  them  a  homelike  charm.  In  and 
out  of  small  cabins  with  prettily  curtained  windows,  busy  housewives 
were  bustling  and  children  in  wooden  shoes  clattered  about  playing 
with  toys.  What  funny  looking  little  tots  they  were!  the  boys  with 
wide  spreading  breeches  like  their  fathers;  the  girls — ^their  mothers 
and  grandmothers  in  miniature — in  full  skirts  reaching  to  the  ankles, 
and  the  quaintest  of  little  caps  upon  their  heads. 

As  the  shades  of  evening  fell,  the  boats  were  tied  up  for  the 
night  and  grown-ups  and  children  enjoyed  the  city  streets.  No 
vehicles  were  in  circulation  and  the  entire  populace  seemed  to  be  on 
the  streets  so  densely  were  they  packed.  Hand  organs  were  so 
numerous  that  as  we  strolled  along,  before  we  lost  the  sound  of  one, 
we  heard  that  of  another,  and  around  them  all,  men,  women  and  chil- 
dren were  dancing. 

One  afternoon  we  went  to  the  Zoological  Gardens  where  we 
heard  an  excellent  concert.  As  the  people  came  and  seated  them- 
selves, they  placed  small  parcels  upon  the  tables  they  had  chosen. 
Just  before  the  concert  commenced  the  parcels  were  unwrapped  and 
our  curiosity  gratified.  They  contained  food  in  variety  and  tea;  the 
establishment  furnishing  only  an  attractive  tea  service,  and  kettles  of 
boiling  water. 

An  hours'  sail  over  the  Zuyder  Zee  one  pleasant  day  took  us  to 
the  quaint  little  village  of  Zaandam.    The  small  wooden  houses  were 

Poge  One  Hundred  Fifty-six 


«nmHiiiuninmMimiiiiiritNiHNiiiMnitnititiniiiMiMriiriitHiiriiiiiiiiiHiHiiiiHiiiiiHrmtiMtrniniiiiHiHNiiiiiHtiiMHtMmHiiiriiiiiinHniiiiHMiruiiHiiiintMiiMHmntimitiiiiifHHin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

miHHiininiiiutiniiiiiMiiinrnuiuiirMiiitMininnniiHiiiiniiHirinir»niitiuniMiimiHMiiiniHiniiuiuiMiinuuiint»iiuiiiimmninuiiNii>iiiniiiMiiH«HiiuiiiHiiniiiiiHHmntmnii^ 

all  painted  green  or  red  and  surrounded  by  beds  of  tulips  and  hya- 
cinths. We  saw  the  house — or  rather  hut — in  which  Peter  the  Great 
lived  while  learning  how  to  build  ships,  and  many  of  the  400  wind- 
mills, for  which  Zaandam  was  famous,  some  with  sails  and  immensely 
long  arms. 

Our  pleasure  was  marred  by  the  curious  crowd  that  hemmed  us  in 
and  followed  us  everywhere — children  and  grown  up  women,  some 
with  babies  in  their  arms.  We  soon  discovered  that  it  was  our  speech 
that  interested  them.  Whenever  either  of  us  spoke  those  nearest 
would  shout  with  laughter  and  they  fought  with  one  another  for  the 
privilege  of  walking  in  front  of  us. 

In  the  Museum  at  Amsterdam  we  found  many  beautiful 
examples  of  the  Dutch  and  Flemish  Masters  of  painting. 

At  our  hotel,  the  Amstel,  we  first  fell  in  with  the  custom  that 
prevailed  at  all  the  hotels  in  Holland  where  we  stopped  of  serving 
cheese  for  breakfast.  It  was  the  small,  round,  red  Edam  cheese, 
made  only  for  home  consumption;  rich  in  cream  and  of  such  con- 
sistency that  it  spread  like  butter. 

In  the  Museum  at  the  Hague  we  enjoyed  the  unrivalled  collec- 
tion of  pictures  by  the  Dutch  Masters  with  their  wonderful  effects  of 
light  and  shadow.  We  enjoyed  the  lovely  shaded  promenade  lined 
with  elegant  homes,  and  the  noble  park  lying  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
city  containing  beech  trees  of  wonderful  size.  The  home  of  the 
Queen — the  House  in  the  Woods — was  ideal.  In  its  setting  of  forest 
trees,  surrounded  by  parterres  of  choicest  flowers,  above  which  hov- 
ered hundreds  of  brilliant  butterflies,  the  air  musical  with  the  song  of 
birds,  it  seemed  an  almost  heavenly  spot  on  that  glorious  summer  day. 

From  the  Hague  to  Rotterdam,  losing  gradually  all  the  char- 
acteristics that  had  made  Holland  such  a  delight.  The  cottages  with 
ghstening  brick  walls  lined  by  beds  of  tuHps;  the  chimneys  rising 
from  thatched  roofs  where  storks  stood  beside  their  nests  feeding  the 
hungry  brood  within;  the  windmills  in  their  endless  variety  of  size 
and  construction,  from  those  that  were  ordinary,  to  the  great  objects 
that  did  the  work  of  steam  engines,  with  sails  on  their  long  arms  that 
often  measured  100  feet  (so  we  were  told  by  an  agreeable  Mynheer 
who  spoke  English  and  traveled  with  us  for  an  hour) . 

But  Holland  was  not  always  a  delight.  Stamped  upon  our 
memories  were  pictures  that  we  saw  too  often  to  forget.  A  woman 
and  a  dog  dragging  a  heavy  cart  along  a  dusty  road !  A  woman  with 
a  yoke  upon  her  shoulders  bent  beneath  the  weight  she  carried !  Poor 
things!    Many  wore  at  the  back  of  the  head  big,  stiff*,  black  bows 

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liHniinimmiimnniiuiiiiiiinitiiiiinnnitMininiiiniuiiiiiiiiiiniiinniitiniinnMiHiniiiinniuninnniiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiniiiniiinninHiiiiniiiniMiiinniiiiiiiiiiii 

MEMORIES        —        SOME        OF        MANY 

miniiiiiiiiiiiitiiimiuiHiiiiiniiiiiiiinHiiiiiiiininiiiMnniiinntiiniiiiiiiuiinuMimumiiNiiiuiiiMiiiniHiiiiimiiiniiutiiiiHiiniiiiinniiinHniiiiininniiiiiim 

that  stood  out  like  the  wings  of  a  bat  and  gave  them  the  drollest 
possible  appearance. 

Rotterdam  looked  busy  and  prosperous,  with  fine  merchant  ships 
loading  and  unloading  at  the  quays.  As  elsewhere  in  Holland  a  pipe 
was  in  the  mouth  of  every  man ;  all  the  adult  male  population  seemed 
to  be  engaged  in  coloring  meerschaums.  Some  of  the  pipes  were  so 
elaborately  and  beautifully  carved  that  they  were  really  works  of  art. 

In  the  market  place  we  saw  a  bronze  statue  of  Erasmus — a  good 
statue  but  in  an  unfortunate  location ;  piled  high  around  the  base  were 
fruits,  vegetables  and  cheap  pottery. 

We  took  a  steamer  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  Maas  for  Antwerp. 
We  went  through  many  branches  of  that  most  uninteresting  river, 
through  canals,  open  reaches  and  at  last  into  the  "lazy  Scheldt." 
Nine  hours  of  the  most  tedious  traveling  between  flat  banks  where 
most  of  the  country  was  below  sea  level  and  protected  by  dykes. 

Our  first  visit  was  to  the  Cathedral ;  an  immense  and  magnificent 
Gothic  Church  with  a  lofty  tower  of  the  most  delicate  workmanship. 
Like  Mechlin  lace,  Napoleon  said.  Near  the  foot  of  the  tower,  over 
an  old  well,  was  the  beautiful  wrought  iron  canopy  executed  by 
Quentin  Matsys,  a  young  blacksmith  of  Louvain,  who  fell  in  love 
with  the  daughter  of  an  Antwerp  painter.  Rejected  by  the  father, 
because  of  his  occupation,  he  abandoned  the  anvil,  became  an  artist  of 
renown  and  won  his  bride. 

Inside  the  Cathedral  we  saw  that  masterpiece  of  Rubens  The 
Descent  from  the  Cross,  and  in  a  square  opposite  the  Cathedral  a 
bronze  statue  of  Rubens  as  a  young  debonair  man. 

In  the  museum  and  churches  we  enjoyed  pictures  by  those 
great  Masters  of  painting  who  were  natives  of  Antwerp. 

The  following  day  we  went  to  Brussels,  stopping  at  Ghent.  We 
saw  the  famous  Belfry  Tower  surmounted  by  a  copper  dragon  and 
strolled  along  the  wide,  pleasant  streets  admiring  the  handsome,  old- 
fashioned  houses. 

We  went  to  a  broker's  office  for  money  upon  your  letter  of 
credit.  We  found  a  very  pretty  young  girl  in  charge  who  spoke 
English  fluently.  She  said  her  father  was  out,  but  that  she  would 
attend  to  the  matter.  From  my  seat  of  observation  I  wondered  how 
a  girl  so  young  and  so  pretty  could  transact  business  in  such  a  prac- 
tical way  and  be  so  devoid  of  consciousness  and  coquetry.  As  we 
went  out  she  returned  my  bow  with  supreme  indifference,  but — 
womankind,  oh  womankind!  she  gave  you  a  smile  that  would  have 
turned  the  head  of  any  man  not  well  balanced  and  anchored. 

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MiiiriMniiiuniiiiiniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiHiiHniiiiiiiniimiiiiinHiiininniniiiiiiiiniiiiiniiiiininninniiiniiiiiiiniiiiiHiiiiiinniitiiuiiiHiiiiiiiHiiiitiiniiiiiininniiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

MiimiiiiiHiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiinniniiiiiniiiniiininiiiiiiiiiiiniuiiiHiiiinniinmiiiiniiiiHininitiiiiiiiiiiiniuniiniininmuiiuiiniiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiium 

In  traveling  that  day  we  were  delighted  by  white  water  lilies 
that  bloomed  in  great  profusion  in  all  the  many  streams  that  ran  near 
our  road. 

We  thought  Brussels  an  attractive  city  in  winter;  in  summer  it 
was  delightful.  The  fountains  that  we  had  left  ice-bound  now  tossed 
their  waters  in  the  sun-warmed  air.  Trees  in  the  splendid  city  park 
wore  all  the  pomp  of  summer;  birds  sang  joyously  in  their  branches 
and  Brussels,  aiFectionately  called  "Little  Paris,"  was  the  gayest  and 
brightest  of  cities. 

Every  morning  the  dear  Old  Square  was  a  garden  full  of  flowers 
and  blooming  plants  and  the  same  walls  that  had  sheltered  us  from 
an  icy  wind  now  protected  us  from  the  rays  of  an  ardent  sun.  We 
ate  ices,  bought  gloves,  and  laces  that  were  commissions  for  San 
Francisco  friends,  and  one  small  choice  bit  I  must  have  for  myself. 

We  spent  a  delightful  day  in  Bruges  that  Middle- Age  City  so 
quaint,  so  beautiful  and  full  of  interest.  We  crossed  bridge  after 
bridge  of  the  numerous  canals,  always  seeing  beyond  some  curious  bit 
of  jaj-chitecture  that  drew  us  on  and  on,  recalling  what  Wordsworth 
said ;  that  the  spirit  of  antiquity  was  enshrined  at  Bruges ;  and  Thack- 
ery  wrote,  of  all  the  quaint  and  pretty  places  I  have  ever  seen  Bruges 
is  the  quaintest  and  prettiest;  and  Longfellow  sung  of  the  chimes  in 
the  old  belfry, 

"the  beautiful,  wild  chimes. 
Low  and  loud  and  sweetly  blended." 

The  Carillons  of  Belgium  were  a  joy.  They  were  in  the  steeples 
of  churches,  in  clock  towers  and  in  town  halls,  so  we  were  seldom  out 
of  the  musical  chiming  of  bells. 

On  the  14th  of  July  we  went  to  Paris.  From  our  windows  at  the 
Hotel  Meurice,  we  looked  across  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  to  the  Tuileries 
Garden  and  saw  green,  waving  branches  of  healthy  trees  instead  of 
charred  and  blackened  stumps  that  sensational  newspapers  had  led 
us  to  expect. 

At  that  period  of  time  Elihu  Washburn  was  Ambassador  from 
the  United  States  to  France.  Mr.  Washburn  enjoyed  the  distinction 
of  having  been  the  only  Ambassador  who  remained  in  Paris  during 
the  stormy  days  of  the  Commune.  He  acted  as  representative  of 
many  foreign  countries  including — at  Bismarck's  request — the  differ- 
ent German  States.  The  labor  had  been  great  and  the  arduous  duties 
had  kept  him  in  Paris  till  the  previous  week  when  he  went  with  his 
family  to  Switzerland. 

Page  One  Hundred  Fifty-nine 


wniniiiiiMiiiitniniMiiiitiiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiniiiiiiiiiniiniiiniiniiimiiiiiiiininiinimHiiniiMitiuiiitniuiinnirniiininiiiiMiinininiiiiiiMiiitiiinniiniiiiiiuiiiitiiiiiiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

nriiiiHiiiiiiiHiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinitiiiiiiniininiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii^ 

Our  Mr.  Washburn — a  cousin  and  life-long  friend  of  the  Am- 
bassador— and  Mrs.  Washburn  were  staying  on  at  the  Embassy  just 
for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  us.  After  dinner  we  found  them  in  a 
delightful  house  near  the  Arc  de  1'  Etoile. 

The  following  day  we  all  went  to  Versailles  and  a  glorious  day 
we  had.  The  park,  the  groups  of  statuary,  the  splendid  fountains, 
the  stately  terraces,  all  so  finished  and  so  beautiful  delighted  us.  The 
immense  Palace  with  a  facade  over  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length  had 
a  splendor  of  interior  that  was  bewildering.  Apartment  after  apart- 
ment in  endless  succession,  full  of  pictures  and  statues,  frescoed 
ceilings  and  exquisite  objects  of  Art.  The  last  room  we  visited  was 
the  celebrated  Galerie  des  Glaces — Hall  of  Mirrors — a  superb  hall  of 
great  size,  with  exquisitely  decorated  ceiling,  the  walls  ornamented 
with  pillars  of  red  marble.  Seventeen  large  arched  windows  com- 
manded lovely  views  of  the  garden;  opposite  the  windows  were  large 
mirrors,  each  framed  in  a  gilded  niche.  In  this  Galerie  des  Glaces, 
early  in  the  year  of  1871,  King  William  of  Prussia  was  proclaimed 
Emperor  of  Germany.  In  this  room  the  crushing  indemnity  was 
demanded  of  France,  and  the  sacrifice  of  territory  exacted. 

The  custodian  of  the  room  was  an  old  soldier,  and  as  we  talked, 
the  tears  rolled  down  his  furrowed  cheeks.  We  all  felt  very  sorry  for 
him  and  hoped  the  extra  pourboires  would  help  to  heal  the  wounds 
our  words  had  caused. 

We  walked  across  the  park  to  the  Trianon  villas  talking  of  the 
three  Louis  who  had  created  and  collected  together  so  much  mag- 
nificence; and  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  Madame  du  Barrie,  but 
most  of  all  of  the  lovely,  unfortunate  Marie  Antoinette. 

The  following  afternoon  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Washburn,  in  the 
Ambassador's  family  carriage,  behind  his  spirited  horses  we  had  a 
long  drive  in  the  charming  environs  of  Paris.  Starting  in  the  Bois 
de  Bologne  we  saw  the  effects  of  the  long  siege  Paris  had  undergone. 
Every  good-sized  tree  had  been  cut  down  and  only  saplings  remained. 
We  dined  at  the  Embassy  and  after  a  pleasant  evening  said  good-by 
to  the  friends  who  were  leaving  on  the  morrow  for  Switzerland,  to 
join  their  relatives. 

Dear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Washburn!  In  after  years  we  often  met, 
spending  a  few  days  together  in  New  York  or  Boston.  They  always 
talked  of  visiting  California,  but  "On  the  path  of  by-and-by,  they 
reached  the  gate  of — Never!" 

And  on  the  morrow  we  began  our  sightseeing  in  earnest  with  the 
Galleries  of  the  Louvre.    Of  all  the  treasures  of  art  contained  in  that 

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iiiiiMiiiiinniiitiniuii»iinHiiiiiiiniiMiiiHiitiiiiniiiiriiiiiiiiiiinmiiiiiniHiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiniininiiirniiiin»iiiinniMiiiiiiiniHiiiMiiinniiiiiiiinriMiiiiriiniiiiriiii^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF       MANY 

'iiiiiiiiiiiiinniiiiniiniiiinMiiiiiniiruiHnninuniiiiiiiuinninuriiininiiiimiiriiiii!tiinHiiiniiuiiiiiMiiiiuiiniiiiniiniHHiiiiiiiiiiiiinrniiiiMntiiiiiiiHiiMiniMnitiii^ 

vast  pile,  if  we  could  have  seen  but  one,  we  would  both  have  chosen 
the  Venus  of  Milo,  and  so,  following  the  direction  of  our  guide  book, 
we  soon  found  the  room  of  the  Goddess.  On  the  wall  hung  the  crim- 
son velvet  that  served  as  a  background.  There  was  the  long  seat 
upon  which  spell-bound  admirers  sat  and  gazed ;  there  was  the  pedes- 
tal with  a  plate  upon  it,  engraved,  "Venus  de  Melos"  but  alas!  the 
pedestal  was  empty. 

We  went  in  search  of  the  nearest  guard  and  asked,  where  was 
the  Venus  de  Melos? 

"Hidden  away  from  the  Germans,"  he  answered. 

"But  the  Germans  have  gone  away,"  we  argued.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"When  should  we  be  able  to  see  the  Venus?" 

"Peutetre  demain"  he  answered  with  another  shrug;  but  tomor- 
row and  for  a  long  succession  of  tomorrows  we  looked  for  her  in  vain. 

One  by  one  we  found  beautiful  statues  mounted  upon  pedestals 
that  had  been  empty;  one  by  one  we  saw  spaces  filled  upon  the  walls 
that  had  been  blank.  We  became  discouraged  and  asked  the  guard 
if  the  Germans  had  not  really  carried  the  Venus  off  to  Berlin?  An 
impatient  shrug  of  the  shoulders  was  the  only  answer  we  got.  Poor 
man!  we  tried  him  to  such  an  extent  that  when  he  saw  us  coming  he 
would  walk  rapidly  in  the  opposite  direction. 

We  spent  hours  each  day  in  that  immense  store-house  of  art, 
enjoying  pictures,  statues,  bronzes,  miniatures,  porcelains,  vases, 
tapestries  and  so  forth,  displayed  in  the  succession  of  splendid  rooms. 

Then  out  in  the  streets,  what  a  beautiful  city  we  found  Paris  to 
be  I  The  great  avenues,  the  boulevards,  the  fine  buildings,  the  squares, 
the  beautiful  fountains,  the  handsome  bridges,  the  perspectives  and 
the  perfect  harmony  that  everywhere  greeted  the  eye!  It  was  mag- 
nificent! It  was  wonderful!  yet  we  could  never  forget  what  to  us 
was  the  greatest  wonder  of  all. 

That  only  two  months  before  we  reached  Paris,  the  Louvre,  the 
Tuileries,  the  Hotel  de  Ville  and  other  great  public  buildings  had 
been  repeatedly  set  on  fire  by  bands  of  frenzied  men  and  women 
carrying  kerosene  to  feed  the  flames ;  that  these  same  frenzied,  fiend- 
ish bands  had  seized  upon  the  streets,  people  of  both  sexes  and 
dragged  them  to  instant  death;  that  two  hundred  hostages  had  been 
most  cruelly  guillotined,  and  that  only  six  weeks  before  we  reached 
Paris,  the  last  battle  between  the  troops  and  the  insurgents  had  been 
fought;  and  yet  there  was  no  evidence  of  the  deadly  struggle  to  be 
seen. 

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iiMuniniiMiHiiiiiniiiiiiMniMiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiriiniiiiniiiMiiniinininiunnirHiiiniiiiiiniiinMniiiiniiMiliMiiiiiiiiiiiininNiHiinHiMiininrnnHnninnuiMnnHunnnHininiiMniiiiinnii^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iMniNiriiiiiiMiiMiiHniiniiiiiiuniiiiiiMiiiiMiMiMinnnuiiiiMiiirrniiinnininniiiiiuininiiniMiniiiMiiiuniiiinniirniMiiHMnininiiiiiiiiininiJiiMiininiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiitiiiiiiiic 

By  heroic  work  the  troops  had  saved  from  destruction  every 
public  building  except  the  Hotel  de  Ville;  and  although  the  house  of 
M.  Thiers  had  been  demolished  and  the  stately  column  in  the  Place 
Vendome,  crowned  by  a  statue  of  Napoleon,  had  been  pulled  down 
and  broken  into  fragments,  all  debris  and  fragments  were  hidden 
from  sight.  Paris  was  gay  and  bright  as  though  disaster  and  disorder 
had  never  touched  her.  The  Boulevard  des  Italiens  was  again  the 
rendezvous  of  fashionable  life;  the  pavements  in  front  of  the  cafes 
were  filled  with  little  tables  set  closely  together  where  people  sat  by 
the  hour,  taking  ices  or  coffee  and  looking  at  the  throngs  that  passed. 

The  theaters  were  crowded;  we  heard  Fra  Diavolo  at  the  Opera 
Comique,  and  saw  a  clever  comedy  at  the  Vaudeville;  we  went  to  the 
notorious  Jardin  Mabille,  an  enchanting  looking  place  of  fairy  like 
splendor  where  the  freedom  in  dancing  and  whirling  was  shocking 
and  in  the  famous — infamous  we  called  it — can-can,  the  kicking  was 
amazing,  but  very  naughty;  we  frequented  the  cafes  chantants  for 
although  the  singing  was  seldom  good,  it  was  summer  and  they  were 
more  comfortable  than  indoor  amusements;  and  without  regard  to 
consequences  when  we  felt  reckless  we  dined  at  one  of  the  celebrated, 
expensive  restaurants. 

We  had  been  in  Paris  over  two  weeks.  The  weather  had  been 
continuously  hot  and  sultry.  The  streets  were  dusty  and  the  glare 
upon  the  light  colored  buildings  was  trying.  After  an  extremely 
strenuous  day  you  asked, 

"How  would  you  like  to  go  to  Switzerland  for  awhile  and  return 
to  Paris  later?" 

I  was  delighted  at  thought  of  it,  and  at  once  we  decided  to  go, 
We  had  not  been  to  the  Louvre  for  three  days  and  you  suggested  that 
we  make  one  more  attempt  to  see  the  Venus  of  Milo. 

In  the  room  devoted  to  that  most  prized  of  all  the  Louvre's  pos- 
sessions, on  her  pedestal,  there  she  stood!  Not  a  Venus,  but  a  glorious 
Goddess!  How  rejoiced  we  were  to  see  that  lovely  bit  of  marble  I 
lovelier  even  than  our  imaginations  had  pictured ! 

At  the  door  was  our  one  time,  surly  guard.  As  we  passed  from 
the  room  he  bowed  and  smiled,  saying,  "enfin,  Monsieur,  Madame." 

From  Paris  we  went  to  Berne.  The  charming  gardens  of  the 
Bellevue  Hotel  gave  us  beautiful  views  of  the  Bernese  Alps.  We 
laughed  at  the  clumsy,  comical  bruins  in  the  famous  bear  pit  and  next 
day  journeyed  on  to  Interlaken. 

As  we  neared  our  destination  we  watched  eagerly  for  every 
possible  glimpse  of  the  Jungfrau.     We  reached  our  hotel — in  full 

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iiiiiimmiiiiiMiuniiniHiiiiiiMiiiiiniiiiiHHiiiiiiiiiniHiiiiitiiiiiiiininiininHMiniiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiniiiiiiiiniiiinimiiiiiiiMiiiiiiniiMiiiHiininiiHiiiiuinitiiiin^^ 

MEMORIES        —        SOME        OF        MANY 

niinnniMiMninHiniMjnMiniMrinuiiiiiiinMiMiNiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiniiiiniinniijaiiiiiiiiiHinniiinuiMniiHiiiinnMiiniiiiiuiiMiiniiniiinMinnuiiniiiMniiHiiiiiiinHininHiiinnniiiiiiiniiiim^ 

view  of  the  mountain — at  the  sunset  hour,  and  while  we  looked  there 
fell  upon  the  Jungfrau  the  alpenglow, — a  luminous,  glorious,  ethereal 
light  that  held  us  enthralled  by  its  wondrous  beauty.  As  that  heaven- 
ly light  began  to  dim,  the  impatient  landlord  came  for  the  third  time 
to  say  the  dinner  was  nearly  over. 

All  through  the  following  day  the  afterglow  on  the  Jungfrau 
was  in  our  minds,  and  three  evenings  we  hurried  our  dinner  in  the 
hopes  of  seeing  it  once  more,  but  the  Jungfrau's  face  was  cold  and 
gray. 

The  walks  about  Interlaken  were  delightful.  From  summits  of 
wooded  hills  we  had  lovely  views  of  snow  mountains  and  blue,  shim- 
mering lakes,  and  in  villages  along  the  valley  road  we  saw  old- 
fashioned  houses  black  with  age  in  the  midst  of  cherry  trees  of  won- 
derful size. 

We  made  an  excursion  to  the  Valley  of  the  Lauterbrunen  to  see 
the  numerous  waterfalls,  and  particularly  the  Staubbach — Dust  brook 
— a  small  stream  that  fell  from  a  rocky  height  with  a  sheer  drop  of 
1,000  feet.  For  many  years  we  had  been  familiar  with  the  lovely 
musical  lines  that  Goethe  had  written  on  the  waterfall, 

"In  clouds  of  spray, 
Like  silver  dust. 
It  veils  the  rock 
In  rainbow  hues; 
And  dancing  down 
With  music  soft, 
Is  lost  in  air." 

Goethe's  eyes  must  have  rested  upon  the  Staubbach  as  ours  did, 
when  the  morning  sunlight  was  falling  upon  it,  and  the  rainbows 
playing  in  and  out  of  the  spray. 

From  Interlacken  by  way  of  the  Lake  of  Brienz  we  went  to  the 
lovely  Giessbach  Falls;  a  generous  stream  framed  by  dark,  green 
foliage,  falling  from  rock  to  rock  in  a  succession  of  cascades — seven 
in  all — to  reach  the  Lake.  There  was  to  be  an  illumination  in  the 
evening  at  8:30  and  just  before  that  hour,  the  buzzing  and  whirring 
of  a  large  clock  in  the  hotel  lobby,  was  the  signal  for  guests  to 
assemble  on  the  terrace,  in  full  view  of  the  Falls.  At  the  hour 
named  a  cannon  was  discharged,  and  in  a  flash,  red,  white  and  green 
Bengal  lights  were  thrown  upon  the  cascades  with  magical  effect. 

From  the  Giessbach  Falls  by  boat  and  diligence  to  Weiringen. 
As  we  wound  in  and  out  around  the  mountain  tops  we  had  fine  views 

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nimniirHiiiinniiimiiiiiiniiiimHiintnniitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimHuiimnnmnHmiiHnirHnmiiiniiniMiiiiitiiiiHiiiiiiiiiimnimunniiniiinMiimimnimiriniminmmituirnMniiiHmiiHHiNi 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

MminiiriiiuiiHiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiniHiinnniiiiniuniniiiiiimiiiininiiiiiHiimiiiuiiiiniiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiniiiuiiiniiuininiiiiinntiiniumiiHMiiinin 

of  snow  peaks  and  lakes.  Alpine  flowers  were  abundant,  and  cow 
herds  with  Alpine  horns  woke  the  echoes  among  the  mountain  cliffs. 

The  next  day  on  horseback  we  went  up,  and  up,  and  up  for 
sixteen  miles  to  the  Handeck  Falls,  considered  the  grandest  in  Swit- 
zerland. Amid  wild  surroundings,  a  great  volume  of  water,  fell 
with  a  roar  250  feet  into  a  cavernous-like  pit,  sending  up  clouds  of 
spray.  It  would  have  been  a  gloomy  spot  but  for  the  large  patches 
of  dwarfed  rhododendrons  covered  with  pink  flowers  that  grew  on 
every  side. 

On  the  morrow  as  you  were  making  arrangements  for  reaching 
the  Rhone  Glacier  a  large  party  that  had  come  over  one  of  the 
passes  halted  at  the  Falls,  where  two  of  the  party  wished  to  stop,  so 
we  took  their  places  and  left  our  horses  for  them.  Every  horse 
was  in  charge  of  a  guide. 

We  had  not  gone  far  when  the  cavalcade  was  halted  and  every 
one  told  to  dismount.  There  were  no  paths,  only  a  steep  mountain 
side  of  loose  earth  and  small  stones. 

By  chance  I  was  well  in  the  rear,  and  as  I  did  not  respond 
quickly,  I  saw  what  difliculty  people  had  in  keeping  on  their  feet, 
even  with  the  aid  of  alpenstocks,  and  determined  that  I  would  remain 
mounted,  if  I  could.  You  called  back  to  me,  "Get  off  your  horse," 
and  I  answered,  "Yes — go  on." 

The  head  guide  was  leading  two  horses  and  had  in  charge  two 
timid  ladies  that  seemed  to  take  turns  in  falling,  rolHng  and  scream- 
ing; but  busy  as  he  was  he  kept  an  eye  on  me;  he  yelled  out  to  my 
guide  that  I  must  walk;  my  guide  told  me  quietly  that  I  must  walk. 

I  told  him  I  could  not  walk  down  the  mountain.  "Boiteux?"  he 
asked;  I  nodded,  and  the  next  time  the  head  guide  bawled  out  that 
Madame  must  get  off  that  horse,  the  answer  went  back,  "She  can't 
walk  down — she's  lame."  Very  angry  the  head  guide  was,  and  used 
words  that  made  all  the  atmosphere  about  him  blue. 

You  had  heard  the  talk  of  the  guides,  knew  I  was  the  cause  of 
it,  and  waited  for  me.  I  expected  to  have,  what  the  French  call,  a 
had  quarter  of  an  hour,  but  did  not.  You  wondered  how  I  managed 
to  stay  on  my  horse,  and  asked,  if  I  did  not  think  I  was  doing  a  very 
dangerous  thing.  I  answered,  not  dangerous  at  all,  but  I  did  not 
dare  tell  how  many  times  I  had  come  near  going  over  my  horse's 
head. 

When  we  were  over  the  steepest  part  of  the  mountain  side,  the 
horses  were  re-mounted  and  without  further  incident  we  reached  the 
glacier. 

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niinniiiiininiiiiiininnNHiiiriiiiiiHiniiiininiiuiiiiiniiittiiiiniiiiiuniiiiitiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiHiiiniiniiiinuiiiiiiHiininiiiiiiiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iMmiiiiniuiinuiiininniinuniniiiiniiMiiiiiiiHiiuirMiinuiH(iininiiiinniiHiiiiiiininiiiiiniininiMnniinimniiiiiniuinminiHiiiiHiiiiuiinnnnniuuiiiiniiiinuiuniiunininiui^ 

The  Rhone  Glacier,  that  stupendous  thing!  that  frozen  cataract 
of  fantastic  shape,  terraced  and  crevassed;  bearing  on  its  back  stones 
and  earth  and  branches  of  trees,  and  fed  by  the  melting  snows  of 
mountains  that  henmied  it  in! 

The  next  morning  you  complained  that  you  knees  were  as  stiff 
as  pokers  from  your  walk  down  the  mountain  side,  and  hearing  that 
mine  were  like  willow  twigs  you  said  if  it  were  to  do  again  you  too 
would  defy  the  head  guide  and  stick  to  your  horse. 

We  walked  to  the  "ice  grotto"  hewn  deep  in  the  glacier's  side. 
It  was  very  beautiful,  the  ice  blue  and  clear  as  crystal,  but  oh!  the 
people  that  looked  upon  it !  what  a  ghastly  looking  lot  we  were ! 

The  diligence  was  waiting  when  we  returned  to  the  hotel  and 
we  started  for  Andermatt  over  the  Furka  Road.  It  was  a  delightful 
ride  with  glorious  views,  and  all  the  ground  bright  with  Alpine 
flowers. 

Early  on  the  morrow  we  were  off  by  private  carriage  for 
Fluelen.  The  road,  a  defile  through  hills  and  lofty  mountains  with 
views  unsurpassed  for  grandeur  and  desolation.  Even  the  echoes 
awakened  by  Alpine  horns  sent  back  mournful,  melancholy  sounds. 
We  crossed  the  savage  gorge  by  the  Devil's  bridge,  built  70  feet 
above  the  foaming,  roaring  torrent  of  a  river. 

Nearing  Fluelen  the  driver  made  a  detour  to  show  us  the  very 
spot  upon  which  Tell  stood  when  he  shot  an  apple  from  the  head  of 
his  son.  A  fountain  under  a  canopy  surmounted  by  a  statue  of  Tell 
marked  the  place. 

We  were  put  down  at  the  landing  and  soon  a  boat  came  that 
carried  us  to  Lucerne.  Lucerne!  the  most  beautiful  of  Swiss  towns, 
on  the  most  beautiful  of  Swiss  lakes !  Half  encircled  by  low  hills,  and 
its  old  wall  picturesque  with  battlements  and  numerous  watch  towers ; 
Pilatus  and  the  Rigi  standing  like  sentinel  mountains,  and  in  the 
distance  the  snow  clad  Alps. 

How  charmed  we  were  with  it  all,  and  with  that  most  delightful 
of  hotels,  the  Schweizerhof.  We  arrived  at  the  dinner  hour,  tired, 
dusty  from  our  six  hours  carriage  ride,  and  hungry;  too  hungry  to 
think  of  appearance  and  went  at  once  to  the  brilliant  dining  room 
full  of  well-groomed,  summer-clad  tourists. 

And  what  a  delightful  evening  we  had  strolling  on  the  Schweiz- 
erhof Quay,  a  broad  avenue  of  splendid  chestnut  trees.  As  though 
nothing  that  Nature  could  give  should  be  withheld,  a  full  moon  arose,, 
flooding  the  Lake  with  silvery  light  and  sending  stray  beams  through 
the  leafy  canopy  overhead. 

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itniiiiiiiiiniinniMininiitiiMiniiMiiiiniiiiiiiiniiitiuiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiimiiiniiiiiiiminiuiitiiiiiiiniiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiinirrMniiinininiiiniMiiiiiiiiMiiiiriimiiiiiii 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiMiirniiniiMiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiininiHiiiiiiiiiinnMrNuiiiiinniiniiiiiiiniiiiiniiininmiiiiiMniininiiiiHiiiiiHininiiniiiiiiMMiiuiuniiniiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiniiiiiiiiiin 

"This  hotel  and  its  surroundings  would  make  an  Anchorite  in 
love  with  life,"  you  said,  as  we  re-entered  the  house. 

Next  morning  to  see  the  Lion  of  Lucerne,  the  famous  monument 
dedicated  to  the  Officers  and  Soldiers  of  the  Swiss  Guard  who  fell  in 
defense  of  the  Tuileries  during  the  French  revolution.  A  lion  of 
heroic  size  cut  in  high  relief  from  the  solid  rock,  after  a  model  by 
Thorwaldsen.    A  noble,  artistic  and  impressive  monument! 

Of  three  bridges  that  crossed  the  green  waters  of  the  swift  river 
flowing  through  the  town,  two  were  medieval  and  curiously  interest- 
ing. Both  crossed  the  stream  obliquely,  were  open  on  the  sides  and 
had  ceiling  paintings  on  the  roofs.  One  represented  scenes  in  the 
lives  of  the  patron  Saints  of  Lucerne,  the  other,  the  Dance  of  Death, 
showing  various  and  unexpected  ways  in  which  the  Grim  Reaper 
might  be  met. 

We  admired  wood  carving  and  beautiful  embroideries  in  shop 
windows  and  climbed  the  hills  for  views.  An  excursion  boat  took  us 
to  that  Mecca  of  all  Switzerland,  the  Tell  Chapel.  A  pretty  struc- 
ture delightfully  situated  on  a  margin  of  the  Lake,  and  overhung  by 
trees. 

A  cog-wheel  road  carried  us  up  the  Rigi~Kulm  5,000  feet  above 
the  Lake.  Gradually  the  view  became  more  and  more  extended  until 
it  embraced  a  wonderful  and  glorious  panorama  of  snow-capped 
mountains,  lakes,  plains,  forests,  rivers,  valleys  and  towns. 

The  Rigi-Kulm  hotel,  large  and  plain,  was  remarkable  for  the 
number  of  notices  stuck  about  everywhere.  "An  Alpine  horn  would 
sound  the  retreat  at  sun  set"  "An  Alpine  horn  would  sound  the 
reveille  a  half  hour  before  sunrise."  "Guests  would  please  be  prompt 
at  their  meals."  "Guests  were  forbidden  to  take  blankets  from  the 
beds  when  going  out  to  see  the  sun  rise." 

At  the  sun  set  hour  we  went  to  the  belvedere,  a  large  platform, 
on  the  very  top  of  the  mountain.  The  Alpine  horn  blew  the  retreat 
but  the  sun  behaved  badly  and  went  down  sulkily  behind  a  bank  with- 
out sending  back  one  smiling  ray  of  brightness  or  color.  Darkness 
soon  fell,  the  air  became  damp  and  chill  and  every  one  hurried  to  the 
hotel  for  shelter  and  supper. 

Walking  on  the  porch  in  the  evening  we  heard  a  guest  say  to 
his  companion,  "The  wind  comes  from  a  rainy  quarter"  and  he  was 
right.  We  were  awakened  by  gusts  of  wind  and  rain,  rattling  the 
casements  and  dashing  against  the  window  panes. 

"Well!  of  all  places  to  have  rain!  On  the  top  of  the  Rigi!"  I 
exclaimed,  looking  out  upon  a  steady  downpour  next  morning. 

Page  One  Hundred  Sixty-six 


wiiiiininMriiiHjriiiriiiHniiinriniiuiinrininMiriiJHriurMtnjriiuiiHiiiMiiniinuiinniiiitiiiuiniiiininiiniiinnniiiiiituiniNinniiiiiiiiiiiniiiMiriiinniiiininiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

riiiiiiiriiiMniiiinMiniMiiuiuniniininiJiiiiniiiHiitiiinniinniiiiininHiiHiiniminiiiiniiiiiiiitiiiMinnniiiiiiiiiiiniiuiiiiiiiiniJNrniniiinuniinniirMtiniuMnininiuiiiiuiniuiiHiiiii^ 

You  answered,  "Do  you  realize  what  exceptionally  fine  weather 
we  have  had?  and  will  you  tell  me  where  in  Switzerland  rain  would 
have  been  welcome  to  you?" 

Just  then  the  sound  of  a  gong  fell  on  our  ears.  We  hurried 
from  the  room  and  struggled  with  a  crowd  for  seats  at  the  breakfast 
table  and  afterwards  with  the  same  crowd,  made  a  rush  for  the  first 
train  down  the  mountain. 

When  we  got  back  to  the  Schweizerhof,  as  the  rain  was  persistent 
we  decided  to  take  an  afternoon  train  for  Zurich.  Pleasantly  situ- 
ated on  the  Lake,  with  delightful  surroundings  Zurich  in  sunshine 
would  have  tempted  us  to  loiter  for  a  day,  but  the  next  morning  a 
drizzling  rain  was  falling  and  we  went  on  to  the  Falls  of  the  Rhine. 

With  a  fall  of  only  sixty  feet,  the  width  of  the  river  and  the 
vast  volume  of  water  poured  over  the  irregular,  rocky  ledge  made  a 
grand  and  impressive  spectacle.  The  rain  had  ceased  but  the  sun  did 
not  shine  and  the  rainbows  for  which  the  Falls  are  famous  did  not 
add  their  charm. 

In  an  open  carriage  the  following  day  in  bright,  cool  weather 
we  had  a  delightful  drive  along  the  river  to  Schaffhausen.  An  old 
wall  with  many  turrets  surrounded  the  town.  The  architecture  was 
fantastic  in  the  extreme.  Most  of  the  houses  had  windows  varying  in 
size  and  shape,  and  roofs  of  the  craziest  and  most  peculiar  design. 

The  day  of  our  visit  was  the  400th  anniversary  of  the  Cantons 
Alliance  with  the  Swiss  Confederation.  There  was  a  procession  with 
music  and  flags  and  hundreds  of  young  men  and  maidens  in  the 
picturesque  dress  of  their  locality.  We  went  into  a  restaurant  for 
luncheon.  The  walls  were  hung  around  with  chromos,  mostly  of 
mountain  scenery.  One  picture  we  thought  looked  like  Mirror  Lake 
in  the  Yosemite  Valley.  Standing  before  it  our  good-natured,  talk- 
ative Wirthinn  joined  us.  We  asked  her  if  she  knew  the  name  of 
that  lake. 

"Ja,  ja,  das  heist  der  Spiegel  See  nach  Nord  Amerika." 

We  agreed  with  her  that  it  was  "wunderschon"  but  did  not  tell 
her  that  we  had  seen  it. 

At  Schaffhausen  we  took  a  train  for  the  frontier  town  of  Basle 
and  at  Basle,  alas!  and  alas!  we  would  say  good-by  to  Switzerland; 
to  the  mountains  crowned  with  eternal  snows;  to  the  beautiful  lakes 
and  their  beautiful  shores;  to  the  rushing  streams  and  waterfalls;  to 
the  mountain  meadows  and  pretty  chalets  with  overhanging  roofs. 

We  were  both  such  lovers  of  Nature  that  Switzerland  had  been  a 
perfect  delight  to  us.    There  were  days  when  the  very  air  we  breathed 

Page  One  Hundred  Sixty-seven 


oiiiniiii iHinniiniiniiiiiiMMiniiiinMnMiMiiHnnninnniniminiiiiiiiimimiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiimiiniiniiiiiitniMiintiiiiiniiinniiiniiimiiiiimtiiiiununHiiiiiiiimniui^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

irHniiiinnniMniimiiiiiiMiinjiiiiiiniiiinnniiiitiniiniiiiiMiiiiiiiitiniinniNiuiiiinimiitiiiiiiiniininiiiiiinninniniiiMiMrunniiHiiniiiniiiiniiMiiiiiiiitiiiiiniiuiiiiiiniiin 

exhilarated  us  like  draughts  of  champagne — and  what  appetites  it 
gave  us!  All  the  hotels  were  excellent  and  at  the  smaller  ones,  we 
were  served  by  such  pretty  girls  wearing  the  costume  of  their  differ- 
ent Cantons.  How  often  we  heard  the  Alpine  horn  at  the  close  of 
day  playing  the  Renz  des  Vaches,  and  as  the  notes  reverberated 
through  the  hills  we  would  see  the  cows,  each  with  a  tinkling  bell,  in 
answer  to  the  call,  slowly  wending  their  way  homeward;  or  the  air 
would  be  sung  by  a  clear,  strong  voice  as  a  cow  herd  wandered  among 
the  hills  searching  for  his  straying  herd;  and  how  we  enjoyed  the 
pretty  hay-making  pictures  in  which  all  the  family  took  part;  the 
mother  mowing  with  a  scythe — not  heavy  work  because  the  grass 
was  cut  many  times  during  the  short  sunmier — ^the  children  tossing 
it  in  the  air  to  hasten  the  drying,  or  raking  it  in  little  stacks;  the 
father  tying  it  in  bundles  which  he  carried  on  his  back  to  the  dimin- 
utive barn;  there  he  mounted  a  ladder  and  through  a  window  near 
the  top  let  the  sweet-smelling,  new-mown  hay  fall  into  the  space 
beneath.  These  simple  scenes  of  peasant  life,  Alpine  horns,  Alpine 
flowers,  mountain  air  and  all  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  Nature  had 
quite  enchanted  us. 

From  Basle  to  Strasbourg.  We  felt  genuine  regret  that  we 
should  see  the  Cathedral,  a  masterpiece  of  architecture  and  rich  in 
windows  of  old  stained  glass  while  still  our  hearts  were  in  the  moun- 
tains. 

At  the  hour  of  noon  we  stood  before  the  famous  old  clock.  The 
crowing  of  the  cock  was  the  signal  for  the  twelve  Disciples  to  appear 
and  march  in  procession  around  the  seated  figure  of  the  Saviour,  as 
they  had  marched  for  over  three  centuries  while  the  old  clock  ticked 
the  time  away. 

Many  shop  windows  displayed  the  Pates  de  fois  gras  for  which 
the  place  was  famous.  We  went  into  one  of  the  best  establishments 
and  looked  over  their  stock,  I  admiring  the  variety  and  beauty  of  the 
labels,  you  looking  at  them  carefully;  then  you  selected  one,  had  it 
wrapped  and  asked  the  price. 

"Seven  francs,  Monsieur." 

"Seven  francs  for  this  small  Pate?"  you  exclaimed. 

"Oh  yes.  Monsieur,  of  that  make,  but  I  can  give  Monsieur  a 
good  Pate  much  cheaper." 

But  Monsieur  did  not  want  anything  cheaper  and  with  your 
purchase  we  went  out,  you  saying,  it  was  an  extravagance  to  spend 
seven  francs  in  such  a  way;  but — holding  it  at  arms  length — that  is 
the  most  famous  of  the  Pates  and  when  we  get  back  to  San  Francisco 

Page  One  Hundred  Sixty-eight 


inniiiiniiiiiiiiriiiiiiniiiit iiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiniiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiniiimiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiii iinniiiiiiiniiiiiiii iiiiiiiiimi iiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiimiin ii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

iiiiiiniiniiiiiiiiinnniniiMHniniiiinMnMiiniiniiuuinunriuinHiiiiininninHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiitiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiuiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 

we  will  eat  it,  and  I  will  invite  J. — an  old  friend  who  was  born  and 
brought  up  in  Strasbourg — to  share  it  with  us. 

On  the  train  going  to  Baden  you  took  down  your  handbag  and 
began  to  rummage.  You  rummaged  and  rummaged,  then  turned  to 
me  saying, 

"Do  you  know  I  left  that  miserable  goose  liver  patty  in  our 
room  at  the  hotel." 

The  season  was  at  its  height  and  Baden  Baden  was  crowded 
with  visitors.  The  situation  was  delightful.  In  a  lovely  valley,  at 
the  foot  of  the  Black  Porest  mountains,  with  drives  and  charming 
paths  on  hillsides  and  in  the  forest. 

There  was  a  handsome  Cursaal  with  magnificent  rooms  for  every 
purpose,  gambling  included,  and  elaborate  bathing  establishments. 
The  "trinkhalle"  was  an  artistic  structure  ornamented  with  frescoes 
representing  legends  of  the  Black  Forest.  There,  every  morning 
from  six  to  seven,  the  visitors  assembled.  There,  for  an  hour  they 
walked  and  talked  and  drank  the  waters  to  the  music  of  an  excellent 
band.  The  waters  came  from  different  springs  and  all,  were  to  us 
unpleasant.  They  were  warm,  had  a  disagreeable  odor,  and  I  said, 
the  taste  of  weak  chicken  broth;  you  said  the  taste  of  a  broth  made 
from  the  burnt  feathers  of  a  chicken. 

We  walked  up  to  the  Old  Schloss,  climbed  to  the  roof  where  we 
found  a  spy-glass.  It  was  a  grand  view,  overlooking  the  town,  with 
the  Black  Forest  on  one  side,  and  the  Rhine,  winding  through  a 
fertile  plain  on  the  other. 

In  the  evening  there  was  music  in  the  pretty  concert  room — a 
classical  program  well  rendered.  It  was  a  brilliant  assemblage  gath- 
ered there  from  all  quarters  of  the  globe.  Most  of  the  ladies  were 
in  full  dress.  Many  were  beautiful  and  one  so  superbly  beautiful 
that  she  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes.  Exquisitely  gowned  and  wear" 
ing  diamonds  that  would  have  ransomed  a  King.  When  she  was  in 
sight  we  could  do  nothing  but  stare  at  her  as  everyone  else  did.  Her 
companion  was  a  distinguished  looking  man  and  as  they  strolled 
through  the  rooms  during  the  intermission  they  were  apparently  all 
unconscious  of  the  sensation  they  created. 

After  the  concert  was  over  we  fell  in  with  some  English  people, 
and  asked  if  they  could  tell  us  anything  about  the  couple  that 
attracted  so  much  attention. 

Yes,  they  were  Rumanians,  on  their  wedding  journey — ^they 
were  immensely  wealthy — the  lady  spoke  five  languages  fluently,  had 

Page  One  Hundred  Sixty-nine 


miiiiitiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii riiiiiiiiiiiii mi iniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii immmiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiin iiiiiimiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiHiiiiiiiiiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

uiiiiiiiiuHiimiiiiiniinirniiiininiiniiiiuiiHiiiniiiiiuriiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiuiimuiiiiiiiiniiMmiiiiiHininnuniiiininiiiuiiiiiiMiiiiiiiininuiiiHiitiimiiiiiiiiiiii^  iiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiii 

a  beautiful  voice,  was  grace  personified  when  she  danced,  and  drove  a 
four-in-hand. 

At  Baden  Baden  we  were  in  close  touch  with  that  famous  Black 
Forest  of  which  we  had  read  and  heard  so  much.  How  we  longed  to 
tramp  through  it  for  weeks  with  knapsacks  on  our  backs.  That  we 
could  not  do,  but  we  might  have  a  few  hours'  ramble  in  it,  and  we 
did. 

The  entrance  to  the  Forest  was  but  a  few  hundred  feet  from  the 
Cursaal.  There  was  a  broad  walk  for  perhaps  two  miles,  and  several 
picturesque  old  women,  each  with  a  broom  and  basket,  were  sweeping 
and  picking  up.  They  all  gave  us  a  friendly  greeting  and  in  ex- 
change for  some  small  coin,  a  curtesy  and  a  blessing. 

At  the  end  of  the  broad  walk  narrow  winding  paths  diverged  in 
all  directions  and  on  those  paths  we  felt  the  influence  of  the  beautiful 
Black  Forest.  There  was  no  underbrush,  no  dead  or  broken  branches. 
The  splendid  fir  trees  grew  so  close  together  that  the  shade  was  dense 
and  gave  the  dark  woods  an  air  of  mystery,  that  made  walking  on 
and  on  to  explore  them  such  fascinating  work,  that  we  had  a  race  to 
get  back  for  lunch  at  the  Hotel  de  1'  Europe,  and  a  train  to  Heidel- 
berg. 

The  valley  of  the  Neckar  was  very  beautiful  as  we  travelled 
through  it  that  August  day.  In  large  fields  the  ripening  grain  was 
thickly  dotted  with  blue  corn-flowers  and  blood-red  poppies.  The 
brilliant  flowers  had  shot  up  for  sun  and  light  and  waving  in  the 
breeze  with  the  tawny-colored  spikes  of  grain  made  a  lovely  picture. 

The  streets  of  Heidelberg  were  quiet  streets  for  the  University 
was  closed  and  the  students  away.  The  old  Castle  high  above  the 
town  was  an  object  of  delight  and  interest.  Roofless  and  overgrown 
with  ivy;  square  and  immense,  with  solid  walls  and  two  picturesque 
towers  varying  in  style  and  height  it  was  indeed  an  impressive  piece 
of  architecture.  The  view  from  the  terrace  and  garden  was  extended 
and  beautiful.  In  the  vast  cellars  we  saw  the  famous  Heidelberg 
Ton  that  held  over  50,000  gallons. 

We  walked  two  miles  through  a  lovely  valley  to  the  Wolf's 
Brunnen — an  abundant  spring  that  fed  a  fish  pond — and  a  favorite 
student  resort.  There  we  found  a  picturesque  Inn  that  made  a 
specialty  of  cooking  trout.  We  had  a  delicious  supper  served  by  two 
very  pretty  girls. 

Near  our  excellent,  moderate  priced  Prince  Charles  Hotel  was 
an  interesting  church,  divided  in  the  middle  by  a  partition  for  the 

Page  One  Hundred  Seventy 


'iiiiiniiHmiiiMiiMiiHiitmiiiiMHniiiiiiMiiiinuiiiiiimiiiiiniiiiiiiinwmiimnnimHiiiiMHiHiiiiiHiiiuiniiiHiniuiiiiiinniiNHiniiHiiiHiMiiiitiiimtmHtiiiiiiiiHinimi^^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

'HIIHHIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIHMIIHIIIIIIIirrillllinHIMI IIIIIIIIIIIIHIIIIMIIIHIIIIilHIIimililllllinillllllllllllllllHUIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIUIIIIIIIIIUIUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIUIIIHIIIIIIIIIIHIUItlllllHmillllllHHHIi 

entire  length,  where,  on  their  respective  sides  Protestant  and  Catholic 
services  were  held. 

Our  few  hours  in  Hombourg  two  months  before  had  left  such 
a  pleasant  memory  that  we  decided  to  go  there  for  a  weeks  stay  and 
drink  the  cold,  sparkling,  saline  waters  that  we  had  enjoyed  so  much. 

It  gave  us  a  thrill  of  pleasure  to  learn  upon  arrival  that  Patti 
was  in  Hombourg  and  singing  in  opera  twice  a  week.  We  heard  her 
in  Traviata  and  Rigoletto.  The  support  was  indifferent  but  that  did 
not  count.  It  was  Patti  that  enraptured  everyone.  Patti  encored 
and  applauded  wildly.  Patti  with  flowers  showered  upon  her  for 
every  aria  she  sung.  Patti,  a  beautiful,  bewitching  creature  with  a 
glorious  voice  that  she  used  with  the  ease  of  a  bird.  Sitting  on  the 
terrace,  strolling  in  the  grounds  or  at  the  springs,  Patti  was  always 
surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  admirers. 

I  took  no  interest  in  the  gambling  rooms  since  I  was  not  allowed 
to  play  and  make  a  fortune,  but  we  did  stroll  in  one  day  and  saw 
Patti  there.  Before  her  was  a  big  pile  of  gold  and  bills  that  she  had 
won,  evidently  enough  to  satisfy  the  diva,  for  just  as  we  discovered 
her,  she  rose  from  the  chair  and  her  husband,  the  Marquis  de  Caux, 
standing  near,  gathered  up  the  money  and  they  went  away. 

After  a  delightful  week  in  Hombourg  we  returned  to  Paris,  gay, 
beautiful  Paris !  How  busy  we  were,  seeing,  re-seeing,  admiring  and 
enjoying! 

We  walked  in  the  arcades  of  the  Palais  Royal  when  a  military 
band  played  in  the  garden;  we  loitered  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  before 
the  shop  windows  of  jewellers,  picking  out  from  the  glittering  mass 
what  each  would  like  to  give  the  other  could  we  but  afford  it;  we 
made  excursions  to  the  delightful  suburbs;  we  wandered  through 
the  shaded  avenues  of  Pere  Lachaise,  that  vast  city  of  the  dead,  hunt- 
ing up  all  the  beautiful  and  celebrated  monuments. 

We  went  repeatedly  to  the  Theatre  Francais.  It  was  a  rare 
treat  to  see  such  finished  and  powerful  acting,  and  to  hear  the  French 
language  so  beautifully  spoken  with  such  clearness  and  distinctness 
that  we  could  understand  every  word. 

The  splendid  Opera  House  was  in  process  of  construction,  and 
operas  were  given  in  a  theater  called  the  Acadamie  Imperiale  de 
Musique,  where  we  heard  the  Huguenots;  there  were  no  celebrated 
singers  but  the  choruses  were  fine  and  the  ballet  gorgeous. 

The  great  markets — the  Halles  Centrales — planned  to  cover  an 
area  of  twenty-two  acres  were  about  a  quarter  finished.  We  made 
many  visits  to  the  attractive  pavilions  to  see  the  great  exhibit  that 

Page  One  Hundred  Seventy-one 


iiiiiiniHniiiinniiMMiinHiiiiMiniinniininiiMniniMiiHininiiHnninnniiHiiiHtniHHimHMtMiiiHCHNHiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiMiiiiiiuiiiiuiiiiiiitiiuiniiinHiiiiuMiHiniiniiiiiininiw 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

miiiiiiHUMiiiiHriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiitiiiiiiMnMiinMiiiiuiiniinHtiHiiiiMiitiiuiiuiiiiiiiiiiuHuuniiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiniiiHniiiiiiiuiutiniiuiiniHiniiuiniiuuHniniiiuiuH 

supplied  Paris  with  food.  Frequently  we  joined  the  throng  walking 
up  the  Avenue  Champs  Elysees  to  see  the  sumptuous  equipages 
going  to  and  coming  from  the  Bois,  where  we  too,  often  drove — our 
cab  was  shabby,  the  horse  and  driver  were  shabby,  but  the  fare  was 
low,  and  that  concerned  us  most. 

On  returning  to  Paris  we  had  gone  to  a  small  hotel  that  had 
been  recommended  to  you.  It  was  conveniently  located,  within  a 
stones  throw  of  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  the  rooms  were  moderate 
in  price  and  the  cuisine  excellent.  On  the  second  day  you  said  you 
had  ordered  dinner  served  in  our  room. 

"Don't  you  feel  well?"  I  asked  with  concern. 

"Perfectly  well,"  you  answered  with  a  smile,  and  then  I  noticed 
the  little  air  of  mystery  with  which  you  were  wont  to  surround  your- 
self when  some  surprise  or  unusual  happening  was  being  prepared. 
Oh!  that  little  air  of  mystery,  how  it  always  set  me  guessing! 

After  the  soup  was  eaten  and  the  entree  served  you  had  the 
chicken  and  salad,  cheese  and  whatever  sweet  there  happened  to  be  put 
upon  a  service  table.  Then  the  waiter  was  dismissed  and  soon  the  air 
of  mystery  was  accounted  for.  You  retired  the  vin  ordinaire  ordered 
with  the  dinner  and  produced  a  small  bottle,  remarking  that  while 
you  wished  to  taste  the  best  of  the  Chateau  wines  the  hotels  and 
restaurants  charged  such  extortionate  prices  that  you  could  not  and 
would  not  pay  them. 

That  was  the  first  of  the  j  oiliest  and  merriest  of  dinners  covering 
a  period  of  two  weeks  during  which  time  you  gratified  your  curiosity 
about  the  highest  grade  of  chateau  wines,  sauterne  and  champagne; 
and  when  I  talked  of  the  boquet  how  heartily  you  would  laugh  at  the 
idea  of  setting  myself  up  as  a  connoisseur  in  wine.  When  dinner 
was  over  we  strolled  on  the  Boulevard  where  you  took  a  small  cup  of 
coffee  and  I  an  ice  at  one  of  the  little  tables  on  the  sidewalk,  and  so 
ended  one  busy,  happy  day  after  another. 

September  14  we  went  to  Calais,  crossed  the  rough,  choppy 
Channel  to  Dover  and  returned  to  London,  going  as  formerly,  to  the 
Westminster  Palace  Hotel. 

The  morning  after,  we  wondered  if  by  any  chance  our  old 
housekeeping  quarters  might  be  vacant  and  went  to  enquire.  Mrs. 
W.  was  delighted  to  see  us — our  apartment  was  rented  for  the  winter 
but  would  not  be  occupied  for  a  month.  We  took  possession  at  once 
and  went  marketing  before  returning  to  the  hotel. 

It  did  seem  good  to  sit  down  again  to  our  very  own  table  and 
a  perfectly  cooked  home  dinner,  you  carving  the  birds,  and  the  same 

Pag6  One  Hundred  Seventy-two 


imiiiHmHnNiiiiinmNimiinniHinrmiHiiminiHHiinHHintiiiHimniiiHmiiNiimiiiNiuumiiiiiiniimmHiHiiiMniniMimimiiiiHiHtHiiiitiiNmtHtittwmiiimuNHiHnirim 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF        MANY 

jmiuiuiiiMiiuniiiiiiinMninHiimiiiiiiiiiiinniiiiMHiMnriiiMUiiiiiiiiiHiiMiiiinuuiiiiHimnniuiiiimiiHiiiiiiniiniiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiniHiniiiiiMiiiimituuiHtiiiiiiinii 

little  slavey — of  the  expansive  smile  and  bobbing  curtesy — waiting 
upon  us;  and  when  the  little  slavey  set  a  gooseberry  tart  before  me — 
kindly  provided  by  Mrs.  W.  who  remembered  all  the  things  we  liked, 
our  cup  of  happiness  was  full  to  overflowing. 

After  the  brightness  of  Paris,  the  atmosphere  of  smoke-be- 
grimed London  seemed  dull  and  gray,  but  we  were  glad  to  be  back. 

The  parks  were  a  delight.  In  November  they  had  been  chill, 
leafless  and  wintry — now  they  were  fresh  and  green  as  midsummer; 
animated  and  so  extensive,  that  without  a  break,  from  one  to  another, 
in  the  very  heart  of  London,  we  could  walk — if  we  were  so  minded — 
a  distance  of  nearly  five  miles. 

After  a  week  in  London,  in  response  to  repeated  invitations,  we 
went  to  Somersetshire  to  visit  your  Mother's  Brother — a  handsome, 
intelligent,  lovable  man,  whose  home  in  the  Vale  of  Taunton  stood  in 
the  midst  of  picturesque  and  beautiful  scenery. 

The  arrival  of  the  American  Cousins  was  quite  an  event  in  the 
monotonous  every  day  life  of  the  family  circle.  Of  five  children  four 
were  married — two  living  at  a  considerable  distance.  They  all  came 
to  welcome  us,  and  each  claimed  some  part  of  our  time.  The  young- 
est, a  daughter  of  twenty,  was  still  at  home.  Jennie,  our  Cousin 
Jennie ! 

They  were  a  fine-looking,  well-informed,  agreeable  lot  of  people 
— all  dark,  with  olive  complexions,  black  eyes  and  hair. 

Almost  the  first  words  Cousin  Jennie  said  to  me  were,  "I  am  so 
glad  you  are  fair — if  you  had  been  dark  as  we  all  are,  I  shouldn't 
have  cared  for  you  at  all." 

Jennie  was  the  housekeeper,  her  Mother  being  in  delicate  health, 
and  the  running  of  the  menage  during  our  stay  we  studied  with 
interest  and  curiosity.  A  trim  efficient  housemaid  at  twenty  pounds 
— an  excellent  cook  at  twenty-five  pounds. 

What  wages! — for  a  years  faithful  first-class  service!  One  hun- 
dred, and  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  respectively. 

There  was  also  a  young  scullery  maid — we  could  never  get 
Jennie  to  tell  us  the  amount  of  her  pay.  She  was  plump  and  red- 
cheeked — very  curious  about  us;  but  running  to  cover  like  a  young, 
frightened  rabbit  whenever  she  thought  we  were  observing  her.  In 
addition  to  these,  a  very  tall  gardener,  who  also  acted  as  groom, 
completed  the  staff. 

At  our  first  dinner,  when  your  Uncle  served  us  from  the  immense 
roast  of  beef,  he  asked  if  he  should  help  us  to  broiled  mushrooms — 

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auniniiniiiuiiiiHruiiiminiHiniiiniiiniintii(MniinHniuiiniiniiimniiiinimimimiiiiniinniinniiiiuiiiiinniiinmininiiniiiinmniiiniiniitinmitiiiiiMiiiiiiininn 

MEMORIES       —       SO  M  EOF       MANY 

lumiiiniiiiniiiiiiiiuiiiiHiiiMiiiiiiniiiiiinininiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiniiininnniiiiininiiiiuuiiiiwniiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiuiinimiHiiiiMiiiiiiiiiuiniiiii^^ 

a  dish  of  which  stood  beside  him — remarking  that  many  people  were 
afraid  to  eat  them.  They  were  perfectly  delicious,  and  upon  express- 
ing our  fondness  for  them  and  that  we  were  alwaj^s  ready  to  take  the 
chances,  Jennie  said,  "Then  perhaps  you  will  go  with  me  tomorrow 
morning  to  gather  some."  We  gladly  assented,  and  next  morning 
she  bustled  into  the  library  with,  "Now  if  the  American  Cousins  want 
to  gather  mushrooms,  I  am  ready." 

We  followed  her  to  a  back  porch  upon  which  were  ranged  a  long 
row  of  pattens.  Frequent  showers  and  heavy  dews  kept  the  luxuri- 
ant English  grass  very  wet  and  unless  heavily  shod  every  one  put  on 
a  pair  of  those  quaint  looking  things  before  walking  over  it. 

You  thought  you  could  get  along  without  them.  Cousin  Jennie 
looked  critically  at  your  shoes.  "Fairly  heavy  soles"  she  said,  "but 
the  uppers  would  be  drenched  in  no  time — put  on  the  pattens  or 
stay  home." 

We  all  laughed,  slipped  our  feet  in  pattens  and  each  with  a 
basket  started  for  the  pastures.  Mushrooms  were  plentiful — button 
and  open — and  we  soon  had  all  we  needed,  then  we  rambled  along 
the  interesting  hedgerows.  They  were  bright  with  the  coral-red 
fruit  of  the  hawthorn  and  seed  vessels  of  the  dog-rose — the  hips 
and  haws  of  English  hedges.  We  found  wild,  prickly  gooseberries 
and  belated  blackberries  and  quantities  of  sloes — ^a  mouth-puckering 
wild  plum  that  Jennie  said  lost  their  sourness  after  the  first  frost,  and 
were  then  gathered,  making  a  delicious  jelly. 

We  were  both  in  among  the  brambles  and  thorns  when  we  heard, 
near  us,  the  song  of  a  bird  and  looking,  saw  a  skylark  rising  from  the 
ground.  Singing  and  circling  in  the  air,  up  and  up  that  darling 
bird  flew.  We  watched  until  he  became  a  tiny  speck,  then  vanished 
from  our  sight,  while  yet,  clearly  and  distinctly  we  heard  the  music 
from  that  little  throat. 

How  perfectly  delighted  we  were.  Dear!  We  had  not  hoped 
to  hear  the  skylark's  song — we  thought  the  season  too  far  advanced, 
but  Jennie  said  when  the  weather  was  warm  the  birds  remained  until 
the  end  of  October.  Jennie  seemed  rather  amused  at  our  enthusiasm 
over  a  skylark  and  said  if  one  gave  us  so  much  pleasure  we  better  get 
up  at  sunrise  when  we  might  hear  dozens  of  them.  We  compromised 
by  walking  along  the  pleasant  lanes  at  sunset, — ^hearing  the  dear 
birds  sing  and  keeping  our  eyes  on  one  after  another  until  it  disap- 
peared in  the  blue  ether.  And  oh,  those  Somersetshire  lanes,  how 
lovely  they  were!  Larks  in  the  sky,  linnets  twittering  in  the  hedges 
and  blackbirds  singing  in  the  tree  tops! 

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iiiiiiiniiiiittiriiMiniiiHHiiiiniiiniiiHitiiniiiiuiiHiiiiitiiiMiiiiiiiiiiMiiiinimiiNiiiiMiiiiiiHiuiiiniiiiiiiitiuHmniinHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniimiHini^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

qiiiiiHiMiiiiMimHiiiiiiHiniiiHiiMiinniJiiiMiiiiiiiiiiinrmiiiiinuniiiHiMiiinmiiiiiinnimmiimniiNHiMiiiuiiMniunMniiMiniiiiiHiiuiiHniniiniiiitiiniiiininniiiinininiiHiiiniiiin^ 

On  the  last  evening  of  our  stay  Jennie  said  to  me,  "Before  you 
go  away,  please  play  your  National  air,  Yankee  Doodle,  for  me. 
Every  one  of  the  family — even  Mother — has  heard  it  played  by  a 
band,  but  I  have  never  been  so  fortunate." 

After  you  and  I  had  teased  and  bantered  her  for  calling  Yankee 
Doodle  our  National  air  and  her  Father  had  chided  her  for  betraying 
such  inexcusable  ignorance,  we  went  to  an  adjoining  room  and  I 
played  the  air  a  few  times.  Jennie  soon  caught  it  and  I  returned  to 
the  library,  but  Jennie  did  not  leave  the  piano  until — to  her  great 
delight — she  played  Yankee  Doodle  with  all  kinds  of  flourishes  and 
brilliant  variations. 

Your  Uncle  drove  us  twenty  miles  to  the  home  of  a  daughter 
— Jennie  going  with  us  to  be  as  long  as  possible  with  the  American 
Cousins.  After  lunch  the  good-bys  were  said,  regretfully  on  both 
sides. 

The  following  day  the  cousins  drove  us  to  Wells — fifteen  miles 
away — that  we  might  see  the  beautiful  Gothic  Cathedral  there;  then 
fifteen  miles  farther  to  the  home  of  the  eldest  son.  They  all  had 
attractive  homes,  and  all  lived  in  the  same  comfortable,  substantial 
way. 

The  luxury  of  game  preserves  on  his  place  was  enjoyed  by  this 
last  member  of  the  family  that  we  visited,  and  in  anticipation  of  our 
coming  he  had  shot  two  brace  of  pheasants  arranging  that  the  plum- 
age should  be  kept  for  me  in  case  I  cared  for  it.  I  did  care  for  it 
very  much  and  the  long,  graceful,  soft-colored  tail  feathers  of  pheas- 
ants adorned  for  many  years  a  succession  of  my  second  best  hats. 

The  birds  when  served  at  table  did  not  compare  with  those  of  a 
London  poulterer.  The  cousin's  explanation  that  they  had  not  hung 
long  enough  was  probably  the  reason. 

The  following  day  we  drove  to  a  railroad  station,  making  a 
long  detour  that  we  might  see,  what  our  cousins  thought,  the  most 
beautiful  scenery  thereabouts.  To  us,  it  was  all  beautiful!  exquisite- 
ly beautiful,  that  rural  England  through  which  we  drove  in  those 
golden  September  days!  Bands  of  sheep  and  herds  of  cattle  in  the 
sweet,  dewy  pastures,  where  cowslips  grew,  and  well  trimmed  hedges 
marked  the  boundaries — small  streams  fringed  with  trees  and  crossed 
by  substantial  stone  bridges — neat,  cosy,  thatched  cottages  with 
blooming  flowers  around  them — gray,  ivy-covered  churches  standing 
in  the  midst  of  pretty  hamlets — stately,  ancestral  homes  with  great 
stretches  of  park  where  deer  roamed  on  the  velvety  turf — grown 
people  and  children  walking  on  the  pleasant  foot  paths — along  the 

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•luiuiiHNiiiiimiiiHHiHiMHNiiMiiiiHniiHiininniiiiiMHiiiMriniuiiiiHmiiiiiimmHiiiNiiHimiiHnHiuiiiiimiiiMiitmmiiiuHiiiHiiiiuumituHHHiitiinKHHHtiimiiininiiiiiiiiiiiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

MiuuwiinniiiiiHiiiiinriiiiiiiihiiniHniiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiinniiiiiiiiumiiniiiiiiiiiiniiiiiHnHiiiiiiiiiMiiHiiiiiiiiiiHnHuiniiiNiiitiuiwiiHiimHiituiiiiuiiiiiiimui^ 

highway,  through  meadows  and  beside  the  streams — crossing  hedges 
and  walls  by  romantic  looking  stiles — birds  darting  hither  and  thither 
— cawing  rooks,  and  now  and  then  above  the  sound  of  talk,  of  rolling 
wheels  and  the  clatter  of  horses  feet,  a  skylark's  song!  And  we! 
happy,  eager  and  alert,  drinking  in  the  loveliness  of  it  all! 

A  two  hours'  journey  by  rail  carried  us  to  the  town  of  Frome. 
There,  in  a  very  attractive  suburb  lived  a  cousin  who  belonged  to  an 
older  branch  of  the  family.  Her  husband  was  Scotch — his  birthplace 
Glasgow.  They  were  elderly! — they  were  delightful! — they  were 
adorable.  Their  two  children  lived  so  far  away  that  it  was  impossible 
to  meet  often  and  only  the  long  vacations  brought  visits  from  the 
grandsons  at  Oxford.  But  they  were  happy  in  each  other  and  con- 
tented within  themselves — charitable,  warm-hearted  and  active  in 
kindly  help  among  the  poor  of  the  town. 

They  had  a  lovely,  picturesque  home  of  gray  stone,  with  an  oriel 
window  that  was  a  thing  of  beauty  without  and  within.  How  glad 
— childishly  glad — I  was,  when  I  found  that  lovely  window  in  the 
room  we  were  to  occupy. 

The  garden  was  full  of  old-fashioned  flowers  and  high  up  near 
the  roof  against  a  gray  gable,  great  clusters  of  crimson  rambler  roses 
hung  from  a  sturdy  vine. 

We  went  to  that  charming  home  for  a  day  and  remained  a  week. 
We  took  long  drives — we  took  long  walks  and  had  long  talks  on  all 
manner  of  subjects.  Dear  Mr.  K.  wondered  how  you  had  the  cour- 
age to  undertake  a  years  travel  in  Europe,  with  a  wife,  on  so  limited 
a  capital,  and  you  wondered  how  Mr.  K.  had  the  courage  to  trust  all 
his  comfortable  fortune  in  one  investment — that  you  would  be 
nervous  to  feel  that  you  were  carrying  all  your  eggs  in  one  basket. 
I  can  still  hear  that  pleasant  voice  with  the  delightful  Scotch  burr, 
as  he  replied,  "Why,  my  dear  John,  the  Bank  of  the  City  of  Glasgow 
is  as  safe  and  sound  as  the  Bank  of  England." 

Every  night  at  ten  o'clock  a  trim,  pretty  maid  brought  in  a 
decanter,  sugar,  lemons  and  a  kettle  of  boiling  water — then  Mr.  K. 
took  from  the  sideboard  a  loving  cup  of  Doulton  ware,  with  the 
quaintest  of  decorations,  in  which  he  made  a  mild  brew,  and  we  sat 
before  the  glowing  coals,  passing  the  cup  from  one  to  another  until 
the  last  drop  was  drained.  Those  evening  talks  were  always  merry. 
Mr.  K.  was  an  excellent  raconteur  and  had  an  inexhaustible  fund  of 
amusing  anecdotes  and  stories  of  Scottish  life. 

When  we  were  leaving  for  London  the  loving  cup  was  given 
us  as  a  souvenir  of  our  visit.    How  we  did  prize  that  cup !  We  carried 

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iHiiHMiinnininiiniiiiiiiiniitiiniiMMmitiiiiirnitMnHiriiHmMiiiiiiimmiiniiuiiiiiniiiiiMiiNmriiriiiinirimiMirrinnriniiiiiiiiriMHiuuririiiMiHiiimniHiiiMMm 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

iiiiiuMiuininhnuiiiiiMiiniminiiuiiitiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiinmiiiiiHiHiiHiiiiiiiimiiiiimHiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiHuiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiuiiuiHiiiiiimmiiiiiiiiniH 

it  carefully  to  London  and  safely  across  the  ocean — safely  too,  across 
the  continent  to  San  Francisco.  For  two  weeks  in  its  new  home,  it 
had  gladdened  our  eyes  whenever  we  looked  upon  it  and  then  a  maid, 
who  had  been  instructed  never  to  touch  the  cup,  broke  it  into  frag- 
ments. 

A  few  years  after  that  delightful  visit  the  Bank  of  the  City  of 
Glasgow  failed  calamitously.  At  that  time  limited  liability  did  not 
apply  to  banks  and  our  dear,  worthy,  noble  friend  lost  his  entire 
fortune — gave  up  his  home,  his  horse  and  carriage  and  everything  he 
possessed  to  the  creditors  of  the  bank  and  yet  remained  heavily,  hope- 
lessly in  debt.  They  did  not  leave  the  home  where  they  had  been  so 
happy — their  children  arranged  that  those  beloved  parents  should  not 
be  disturbed — they  provided  them  with  the  comforts  and  luxuries  to 
which  they  had  been  accustomed  and  never  left  them  alone;  but  the 
blow  had  been  too  heavy  to  bear! 

An  Act  of  Parliament  was  passed  for  the  relief  of  shareholders 
completely  ruined  by  the  disaster  but  it  came  too  late!  In  less  than 
two  years  the  happy,  helpful,  beautiful  lives  were  ended,  and  two 
loving,  tender,  broken  hearts  were  at  rest  beneath  the  churchyard  sod ! 

Back  in  London  we  began  at  once  to  make  preparations  for 
returning  to  our  native  land.  Shopping  and  having  things  made  took 
up  considerable  time — the  rest  we  gave  to  pictures  and  the  parks. 

October  15  we  said  good-by  to  kind  Mrs.  W.  and  the  little  slavey 
and  went  to  Liverpool. 

We  got  a  vague  idea  of  the  enormous  docks  with  their  fifteen 
miles  of  quays,  saw  the  many  fine  public  buildings  and  on  the  17th 
sailed  on  the  Steamer  Abysinnia  for  New  York,  our  year  in  Europe 
a  thing  of  the  past. 

"Should  we  ever  go  again?  ever  repeat  the  delightful  experi- 
ence?" I  asked — I  wondered. 

"That  we  could  never  do,"  you  answered.  "There  could  be  only 
one  first  time.  A  second  draught  of  Old  World  flavor  would  be  a 
diluted  draught." 

I  was  not  sure  of  that,  except  perhaps,  in  Cathedrals.  The  first 
great  Cathedral  we  saw  was  that  of  Cologne  and  I  did  admit  that  the 
thrill,  the  catch  of  the  breath,  the  wonder  and  awe  I  felt  when  I  be- 
held the  glory  and  majesty  of  that  interior  were  never  quite  repeated. 

"Which  goes  to  prove,"  you  argued,  "that  there  can  be  only  one 
first  time." 

I  was  no  better  a  sailor  than  in  going  over  and  the  eleven  days 

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iiiiiiiiniiiiiiiimiitiiMiiiiiiiHiniininiiriitiiHiniimiiMtitiiiiiMininiiiirinininiiiniNiiiMnimiMnnniiiiMiniiiniiiiHniiniiiiiiniiiiniiMiiinniniiiiiiirinitiiiiiniiiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

4iiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiHHHUiMiHiHmHiHHHiiiiniituiitiniiHiiiiiiHimiiiiHiiHiiiniiiMM 

of  the  voyage  were  mostly  miserable  days  for  me.  The  crisp,  bright 
autumn  weather  tempted  us  to  remain  for  several  weeks  in  the  City 
before  going  to  our  old  home  in  Central  New  York  where  we  re- 
mained through  the  winter  and  in  the  spring  returned  to  California. 
We  had  left  a  white  World  buried  deep  in  snow  and  the  contrast 
when  we  reached  the  foothills  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  Mountains 
warmed  the  very  cockles  of  our  hearts.  Exquisite  verdure — fruit 
trees  in  blossom — wild  flowers  on  every  side.  A  glorious  riot  of  color 
called  into  being  by  a  California  spring. 

March  20,  1872,  we  were  back  in  San  Francisco. 


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«iiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiitiimiiiiHiiiniiiMiiiiiiininiiiniininniiniMiiiniiHiiiiiiiiininiiMnininiiiniiMiiiiiiiiitiiiHnMnnniniuniiminiiiminiiniiiiiHninimii^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

imiiJHnniMnHiiiuNiiiMiiiiMiiiMMiinMinnMniniininiiiiniiiiiiiniiiiiiHniiMiiiiiiriuiiiMniiiuuHUiiiiiiiiiiiHMiiiinHti»iiiiMiiiiiniiiitiiHnH(uniiiiiiMiuiiniiiiiimiiiuiH 

PART  FOUR 

A  FTER  the  first  excitement  of  return  to  the  old  famihar  scenes 
ZA  had  worn  away,  and  we  had  met  all  the  intimate  friends,  we 
began  to  count  the  cost. 

Like  the  sun-dial  I  have  marked  only  shining  hours!  To  those 
must  now  be  added  a  long  period  of  stress  and  strain.  The  expense 
of  our  European  trip  had  far  exceeded  your  estimate.  Business  was 
dull,  and  the  practise  of  law  sympathized  with  the  general  commer- 
cial depression;  and  in  a  matter  where  you  had  looked  for  profit,  you 
had  met  disappointment  and  loss. 

Speculation  in  mining  stocks  was  common.  Many  people  that 
we  knew,  eagerly  watched  the  quotations  of  the  stock  markets  from 
day  to  day,  and  we  heard  a  great  deal  of  talk  about  prospects  and 
indications  in  this  mine  and  that. 

One  day  you  came  home  with  ten  shares  of  Crown  Point  that 
was  selling  so  low,  you  were  tempted  to  buy,  particularly,  you  ex- 
plained, as  the  assessments  for  developing  the  mine  were  not  heavy. 

When  we  went  to  Europe  you  left  the  stock  and  a  special 
power  of  attorney  with  an  intimate  friend,  instructing  him  to  act  as 
though  the  shares  were  his  own.  For  many  months  he  paid  assess- 
ments until  one  day,  hearing  an  unfavorable  report  of  the  mine,  he 
sold  the  stock  for  a  few  dollars  a  share.  There  were  but  two  assess- 
ments levied  after  that.  A  large  body  of  high  grade  ore  was  uncov- 
ered and  at  once  the  stock  went  up.  Higher  and  higher,  until  two 
months  after  our  return  to  San  Francisco  it  sold  for  nearly  $2,000  a 
share.  It  was  trying;  it  was  disappointing;  to  me  it  was  maddening, 
and  how  you  could  take  a  philosophical  view  of  the  transaction  was 
beyond  my  comprehension.  I  was  outspoken  in  my  criticism  and 
censure  of  your  friend;  I  argued  that  you  would  at  least  have  kept 
part  of  the  stock,  and  sold  that  perhaps  for  the  highest  price. 

Oh  no!  you  said,  there  would  have  been  no  possibility  of  that,  as 
the  blind  gods  of  chance  had  never  shown  you  any  favor.  You  might 
have  made  a  few  thousand  dollars  which  would  have  been  very  ac- 
ceptable; or  you  might  have  sold  the  stock  as  T.  did;  he  acted  on  his 
best  judgment  and  you  had  no  complaint  to  make.  It  was  certainly 
a  disappointment,  but  could  not  be  helped. 

For  once,  our  point  of  view  was  wide  apart  as  the  poles.  I  took 
the  highest  figure  the  stock  reached,  multiplied  it  by  ten,  and  in- 
sisted that  was  the  amount  of  your  loss,  and  no  argument  or  reason- 
ing could  convince  me  otherwise. 

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niiiiriniuiiiuniitiniiiiinniiniininiiiiintiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiniHiniiiniiinitiiiiminnnriiiiniiniiiiiitpiiiiriiiiiiniiiiiniiitMMtinutiintHiniiiiiiniiHiiimiinitiiiiittiiH 

MEMORIES        —        SOME        OF        MANY 

mniimmitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iMiiriHutiiiiiiiiniiniininmiiiiiniinrnmitiiHiimiiiimimiiiiiiiuiiiiimiMiiinimiiMHiiiiniiiuiiiiiiimniimiiiiiimmiiimiittinuinimiiHiiniiiiiniiiniiiu^ 

Your  friend  felt  that  he  had  managed  his  trust  badly,  and 
wondered  that  no  word  of  reproach  ever  fell  from  your  lips;  he  said 
if  you  would  call  him  a  blunderhead  and  give  him  a  good  blowing  up 
he  should  feel  better.  For  a  long  time  he  knew  he  was  under  the 
ban  of  my  displeasure  but  by  degrees  the  soreness  wore  away,  the 
entente  cordiale  was  restored,  and  he  came  frequently  as  ever  for  a 
little  evening  visit  with  us ;  but  I  gave  him  many  a  pin  prick  by  talk- 
ing of  things  we  might  have  had  or  done,  if  we  had  not  lost  that 
fortune  in  Crown  Point. 

In  after  years  I  realized  and  understood  more  fully  how  fair 
and  sensible  and  generous  you  had  been  in  judgment  of  your 
friend ;  how  brave  in  meeting  loss  where  you  had  hoped  for  gain,  and 
thought  then  as  I  do  now — laying  down  my  pen  the  while,  to  go  over 
it  all — how  patient  you  were  with  me,  for  well  you  knew,  Dear  Heart 
of  mine,  that  my  regret  was  keen  because  fortune  had  not  been  kind 
to  you. 

All  through  the  summer,  business  was  depressingly  dull,  and 
although  when  alone  with  me,  or  in  the  company  of  friends  you  al- 
ways seemed  cheerful,  the  quick  eyes  of  affection  looked  beneath  the 
surface,  and  I  knew  that  all  was  not  well.  The  winter  passed ;  spring 
came  and  went.  As  summer  approached  I  noticed  with  ever  increas- 
ing anxiety  that  I  never  heard  you  laugh  and  seldom  saw  you  smile; 
that  your  step  was  slow ;  your  appetite  capricious  and  your  spirits  at 
the  lowest  ebb.  When  I  questioned  you,  you  admitted  that  you  did 
not  feel  well  hut  everyone  must  expect  indisposition  at  times  and 
there  was  no  cause  for  alarm. 

We  had  planned  a  camping  expedition  with  friends,  and  soon 
as  we  were  in  the  country  you  would  feel  better.  The  day  came  for 
the  party  to  start.  We  were  to  number  six,  but  you  were  not  well 
enough  to  go,  and  we  insisted  the  four  should  not  delay  their  de- 
parture; we  would  join  them  by  the  time  they  had  the  camp  nicely 
running.  Two  days  later  you  thought  you  would  not  get  up — per- 
haps a  days  rest  in  bed  might  do  you  good.  Oh!  what  a  pang  those 
words  gave  me !  spoken  in  so  low  a  tone  and  in  such  a  patient,  pathetic 
way!  I  sent  in  haste  for  Dr.  McM.  "Typhoid  fever,  without  a 
doubt,"  he  said.    My  blood  ran  cold  from  fear  and  fright! 

The  disease  developed  rapidly.  For  three  weeks  I  watched  day 
and  night  beside  your  bed,  with  one  prayer  always  in  my  heart  and  on 
my  lips.  You  were  very,  very  ill,  but  the  crisis  was  safely  passed; 
your  precious  life  was  spared  and  my  prayer  answered.  Then  came 
convalescence.    Ah  me!  the  memories  of  that  blessed,  blissful  time! 

Page  One  Hundred  Eighty 


iiiimnuriiiiiiuiiiiiHiiiiiiiniiiiHiiiiMiHiiiiiMniiiniiuniiiiiiiiiiniininiiriiiMiiniiinuMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiniiniiiniiiiiiiiiiuuiiiiiiniiiiiiniiHiiiiiiiiiiiniiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

«iiMiHiiitHimiuiiMniiiiiiniinniiniiMniiinHinMMMiiiiiiiiiniiiunmMinniiiniimiiiiiHiiiHniiMMiiHmmHiinHiHniiniinrniinnHiii(imiiHiHminiiiiinHMiHiiiMimiininiutniHiuiiiiii^ 

with  you  constantly  clamoring  for  something  to  eat,  and  I  so  glad 
and  thankful,  yet  never  forgetting  the  Doctor's  warning!  What 
wrangles  we  had.  Dear,  over  your  food,  you  calling  me  a  tyrant, 
a  cruel,  heartless  tyrant,  destitute  of  kindness,  of  sympathy  and  of 
pity!  and  never  giving  you  half  enough  to  satisfy  your  appetite. 

Soon  as  you  were  able  to  bear  the  fatigue  of  travel  we  went  to 
the  Big  Tree  Grove  of  Calaveras  County.  That  part  of  the  journey 
taken  in  a  clumsy  stage  coach  that  seemed  minus  of  springs  was  try- 
ing to  both  of  us.  YoUj,  weakened  by  long  and  serious  illness,  I^  by 
my  protracted  vigil  and  anxiety,  yet  strange  to  say,  jolting  over  the 
rough  road  through  intense  heat  and  suffocating  dust  did  not  harm 
either  of  us. 

When  we  reached  our  destination  we  found  a  pleasant  house  with 
a  large  porch  upon  which  all  the  visitors  were  assembled  to  see  the 
arrival  of  the  stage.  Oh!  how  glad  we  were  to  rest,  and  how  sweet 
the  mountain  air  was! 

Surveying  our  new  surroundings  next  morning  the  porch  and 
the  rocking  chairs  did  not  appeal  to  us.  We  wanted  none  of  that. 
We  wanted  a  bowery  retreat  all  to  ourselves  with  solitude  a  deuce. 
We  went  to  the  grove  and  chose  our  location.  We  constructed  a 
kind  of  couch  with  the  head  resting  against  the  trunk  of  a  magnifi- 
cent tree;  on  this  framework  of  boughs  we  piled  layer  after  layer  of 
the  tender  ends  of  fir  tree  branches.  We  worked  diligently  for  two 
entire  days. 

Directly  after  breakfast  of  the  third  day,  with  a  small  book — 
Select  Poems  of  Wordsworth — we  went  to  take  possession.  How 
pleased  we  were  with  our  handiwork!  We  sat  down  upon  the  soft, 
yielding,  fragrant  mass  that  gave  so  delightfully  to  the  pressure  of 
our  bodies.  Here  we  would  rest!  Here  we  would  read  and  talk  and 
breathe  the  dry,  pure,  health-giving  air!  We  felt  a  real  compassion 
for  the  people  rocking  on  the  porch  when  by  a  little  labor  they  might 
recline  on  such  a  couch. 

As  you  opened  your  book  you  brushed  a  big,  black  ant  from 
your  hand,  while  I  brushed  another  from  your  sleeve;  then  you 
brushed  two  from  the  back  of  my  neck,  one  of  which  had  bitten  me 
viciously.  We  looked  around.  Ants  were  crawling  up  and  down  the 
trunk  of  the  tree — ^^ants  were  crawling  by  hundreds  through  our 
pretty,  green  mesh-work  of  twigs — ^the  biggest,  blackest,  wickedest- 
looking  ants!  We  knew  at  once  there  was  no  use  in  putting  up  a 
fight  against  such  numbers.    Disappointed  and  disgusted  we  walked 

Page  One  Hundred  Eighty-one 


HiininiiniiiniiiiiiiMiimiiiuinHiHMnMHnuniiininiMinHirininimiiniiiiiiriiiiinNiHiHirmMiiniiiiiniiHiniiuiiiiiiHirnniiiiitiiniiniininiiiiiiiiiiinii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iHiHiiiiiiiniiinHiniinnuinmiHiiiiiiiiiiiniiHinuiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiHiinHiHiiliiiiiiiiiiHHniniiiniiiiniiiiminitiiMiniimitiiiiitiiinniiiiMin 

back  to  the  house.    We  found  two  vacant  chairs  on  the  porch  and  sat 
down  to  rock  and  meditate ! ! 

In  a  few  days  we  began  to  take  short  walks,  extending  them 
gradually  as  I  deemed  prudent,  and  oh!  my  Beloved!  what  thank- 
fulness! what  joy  unutterable  took  possession  of  all  my  heart  and  soul 
to  see  each  day  the  change  in  you !  To  see  the  return  of  so  much  that 
I  had  sadly  missed!  Elasticity  in  your  step;  the  cheerful,  resonant 
ring  in  your  voice ;  the  alert,  happy  light  in  your  eyes.  Your  strength 
returned  in  leaps  and  bounds.  Hope  came  back!  Courage  came 
back!  and  Heaven  opened  before  me  once  again!  a  very  material 
Heaven,  to  be  sure,  but  one  in  which  I  dwelt  ever  blissfully !  At  the 
end  of  a  month  we  returned  to  the  City,  you,  with  the  strength  of  a 
Sampson,  you  declared. 

For  twenty  years  you  worked  steadily.  In  that  time  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  life  did  not  pass  us  by.  You  had  disappointments  and  vexa- 
tions and  trials  and  perplexities  to  overcome.  Whatever  affected 
you  affected  me,  so  life  was  not  always  couleur  de  rose;  but  taken  all 
together  they  were  happy  years.  The  days  of  sunshine  when  we 
lived  in  sweet  content;  at  peace  with  the  World  and  in  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  all  we  held  most  dear,  outnumbered  an  hundred  to  one  the 
days  when  shadows  fell. 

We  had  a  large  circle  of  friends  and  acquaintances  and  San 
Francisco  with  a  smaller  population;  San  Francisco  with  wind  and 
dust  and  fog  and  old  wooden  sidewalks  was  a  sociable,  friendly,  de- 
lightful place  in  which  to  live!  When  we  walked  on  the  business 
streets  you  exchanged  bows  with  half  the  men  we  met,  and  to  stroll 
in  the  limited  shopping  district  was  to  meet  nearly  every  one  we 
knew.  Golden  Gate  Park  was  a  dream  of  the  future  and  the  Cliff 
House  Road  the  only  drive.  It  was  a  lively  road,  particularly  on 
Saturday  afternoons  and  when  we  could  get  our  favorite  horse, 
dapple-gray  "Archie"  we  enjoyed  the  ride  and  the  animation. 

Where  the  large  down-town  apartment  houses  now  stand  there 
were  pleasant  homes  and  smiling  gardens,  and  Chinamen  with  pig- 
tails hanging  down  their  backs  went  from  house  to  house  supplying 
fruit  and  vegetables  from  baskets  that  dangled,  one  on  each  end  of  a 
bamboo  pole  across  their  shoulders.  What  familiar  figures  they  were 
on  the  streets  and  hills. 

We  had  our  short  seasons  of  Grand  Opera  and  we  had  Sym- 
phony Concerts  and  in  the  latter  part  of  that  first  decade  we  had  in 
the  stock  company  of  the  California  Theater  a  talented  group  of 

Page  One  Hundred  Eighty-two 


MMiriiHHHiiiuritiuiiiiimiuiuiiHtimtniiriiniininniiniiiiiitmniiiiiiiiiiiiiiHHiiHHmHiiNiiiHirtiuiiiiiiiiiiHiniiHiiiiMuiiimiMiiHHiniiininiiiiiiiiMMtiiMMtiuiiniirnriiiniiiininiHi^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

itminiiiiuiiiuuuiniiniHiHiHiHiiiuniimMtiiiiMiniiiiuiiiiiHiiiMiiliiiiiiiiiiiiuiniiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiuinimMinuiHunuHniiiniiiniiuiinuiiuininiHiHiniiininiiniiimi^ 

actors  and  actresses,  every  one  of  whom  left  San  Francisco  as  a  star, 
to  shine  in  the  theatrical  firmament  of  Eastern  cities. 

And  we  had  frequent  visits  from  Negro  Minstrels, — those 
mirth-provoking  burnt  cork  artists  that  now  we  never  see  nor  hear. 
More's  the  pity! 

During  those  years  of  work  no  two  school  children  ever  looked 
forward  to  summer  vacations  or  little  excursions  more  eagerly  than 
we  did.  In  the  early  period  of  that  time  whenever  you  went  out  of 
town  on  business  for  more  than  a  day  you  took  me  along — once  under 
most  unusual  circumstances. 

I  was  at  a  lunch  party.  While  we  were  at  table  a  maid  whis- 
pered to  the  hostess  who  excused  herself  and  left  us,  returning  soon 
for  me  and  laughing  said,  "You  need  not  be  alarmed."  In  the  living 
room  I  found  you.  Unexpectedly  called  to  Sonoma  on  bilsiness  that 
would  keep  you  two  or  three  days,  you  had  put  the  things  I  should 
need  for  the  night  in  your  bag  and  stopped  for  me. 

"But  I  cannot  go  in  this  gown,"  I  said. 

"I  have  your  linen  duster,"  you  answered,  "for  we  shall  have  a 
long,  dusty  ride — there  is  no  time  to  go  home  to  change  your  dress." 

Turning  to  my  hostess,  I  asked,  "Would  it  be  quite  right  and 
proper  for  me  to  leave  you  and  go?"  "Right  and  proper,"  she  said, 
"I  would  give  the  World  to  have  my  husband  carry  me  off  in  such  a 
way."  A  carriage  was  at  the  door  to  take  us  to  the  boat.  I  went, 
and  what  a  good  time  we  did  have!  For  fear  of  spoiling  my  best 
gown  I  wore  my  linen  duster  every  day  from  morning  until  night. 

Every  three  or  four  years  we  crossed  the  continent  to  spend 
your  leisure  with  our  relatives  in  New  York.  Most  of  the  time  in 
the  old  Central  New  York  home;  the  remainder  in  the  city  with  a 
brother  and  sister. 

One  summer  we  spent  your  vacation  in  going  to  Alaska,  and 
what  ideal  voyaging  it  was,  that  smooth  channel  between  the  main 
land  and  a  chain  of  islands,  getting  only  once  on  the  long  voyage  the 
swell  of  the  Pacific  ocean  that  stretched  away  blue  and  smooth  to  the 
horizon. 

The  scenery  was  magnificent!  The  lofty  peaks  and  snow-clad 
mountain  ranges,  the  stupendous  cliffs,  the  lovely,  feathery  cascades 
tumbling  down  the  mountain  sides,  the  dense  forests  of  noble  trees, 
the  glimpses  of  grand  fjords  as  we  threaded  our  way  through  charm- 
ing inlets,  with  shores  so  near  on  either  side  that  we  could  often  see 
the  blue  and  pink  of  flowers,  but  never  close  enough  to  determine 
their  form. 

Page  One  Hundred  Eighty-three 


miiiniiMiiMiiiNniMiiiiiiiMniniiiiiiniiMniiMiiiiniiinniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiniiiiiii niiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiti niitiiiitiiriiii uiiiiiiittiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiHiniiiiiiiiiniiiiintuiniiimn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iNuiHiiiimiiiininiiinnniHuiitHUHiMHininiMMiiiiiinuniNHniHiiifiiiiMiinnniiinniiniiiiiiiiiinniuriinimiiiuiiiiniiiHiiniHiniiiiHimiiiinMiuiiiiiiiiMiiuiimiiiiiiiin      inii tii 

Only  an  occasional  blot  on  nature's  beautiful  handiwork  for 
forestry  was  unknown  and  conservation  not  yet  thought  of,  and  we 
saw  miles  and  miles  of  blackened  stumps  where  stately  forests  had 
been  turned  into  scenes  of  desolation  in  the  first  process  of  clearing 
the  land. 

Going  ashore  we  always  hailed  with  delight.  The  villages  were 
full  of  interest.  The  natives  and  their  abodes,  the  totem  poles 
crowned  with  an  animal,  and  many  carved  their  entire  length,  the 
shops  where  furs  and  skins  were  sold  and  the  Indian  women  and  girls 
weaving  baskets.  Many  of  the  old  women  were  hideous  with  enor- 
mously distended  cheeks.  How  we  pitied  them,  thinking  they  suf- 
fered from  toothache,  until  we  saw  them  drawing  long  strands  from 
their  mouths  where  they  were  kept  moist  and  supple  till  needed  in 
their  work. 

We  stopped  at  Douglas  Island  where  an  immense  stamping  mill 
was  crushing  ore  with  deafening  noise.  Picturesque  Sitka  with  a 
mountain-locked  harbor  studded  with  islands  was  the  limit  of  our 
voyage,  and  after  the  confinement  on  the  Steamer  the  long  walk  up 
Indian  River  trail  was  a  delightful  experience. 

How  we  enjoyed  those  long  June  days  in  that  Northern  land! 
The  sun  disappeared  for  a  few  hours  but  there  was  no  night,  and  it 
was  our  rare  good  fortune  to  have  clear,  cloudless  skies  in  a  pro- 
verbially rainy  region;  we  had  two  or  three  light  showers  but  the 
little  bundle  containing  our  Mackintosh  coats  and  rubber  shoes  was 
never  opened. 

On  our  homeward  voyage  we  saw  the  Muir  Glacier — a  stream  of 
ice  three  miles  in  width  varying  in  height  above  the  water  from  100 
to  300  feet  and  stretching  away  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  From  the 
main  body,  masses  of  ice  were  frequently  detached  with  a  sound  like 
thunder,  sending  the  rainbow  colored  spray  hundreds  of  feet  in  the 
air  as  the  new  iceberg  of  exquisite  blue  floated  gracefully  into  the 
Bay  or  sank  beneath  the  water. 

On  the  pinnacled,  splintered  crystal  wall  of  the  Glacier  iridescent 
hues  were  constantly  at  play  with  an  effect  of  indescribable  beauty. 
About  the  Bay  snow-crowned  mountains  towered  skyward  completing 
a  spectacle  of  wonderful  beauty  and  grandeur.  We  went  ashore, 
walked  over  the  moraine  and  on  the  Glacier  until  we  reached  a 
crevasse  down  which  we  peered. 

In  going  to  Alaska  we  had  chosen  the  old  wooden  ship  Mexico 
in  preference  to  the  Queen,  because  the  Mexico  took  several  more 
days  for  the  trip  and  went  where  the  Queen  could  not  or  did  not  go. 

Page  One  Hundred  Eighty-four 


ainniiiiiimuirmiinHmininnimiHiiMtiniiitiniiiHiniiiinnHiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiHiniiiiiiHiiiiiniuiHiiitiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiniiiiHiminiiiiiiiiiiiiiniHmiinn^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iiriiiiniuiitiiiiiiMMniimMHniiMiMniMninnntniiMiMiMnniiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHniHiniiiiiiiminniniiiiuiniiiiniiiiiiniiiiiMiiMiinMininiininnnimmnt4iininininiiiiin 

As  we  were  steaming  out  of  the  Bay  we  ran  upon  a  submerged  ice- 
berg and  stuck  fast.  In  the  ship's  effort  to  free  herself  the  berg 
played  havoc  with  the  wooden  hull  and  immense  pieces  of  splintered 
wood  drifted  from  our  enforced  anchorage.  The  situation  was  rather 
disquieting  but  only  one  passenger  felt  alarm — a  timid  man  from 
Los  Angeles  begged  the  Captain  to  send  him  ashore,  offering  to  pay 
well  for  the  service.  In  time  the  Captain  got  his  craft  afloat  and  we 
made  our  home  port  where  the  Mexico  underwent  repairs,  but  the 
good,  old  ship  had  been  on  her  last,  long  voyage. 

When  we  did  not  leave  the  State  our  vacations  were  taken  in  the 
mountains  of  California!  what  memories  those  words  recall,  of  glori- 
ous days  when  we  tramped  over  steep  trails;  or  walked  for  miles  on 
an  old  abandoned  wagon  road;  or  followed  the  margin  of  a  clear, 
singing,  rapid  stream,  carrying  creel  and  rod;  letting  our  flies  float 
down  the  riffles  and  whipping  the  pools;  filling  our  drinking  cup 
from  springs  of  deliciously  cold  water ;  eating  our  lunch  in  the  grate- 
ful shade  of  a  tree  while  the  whispering  leaves  overhead  and  the 
sound  of  running  water  made  music  in  the  sweet  wood-scented  air; 
counting  our  catch;  telling  the  difficulty  of  landing  this  one  or  that; 
laughing  at  each  other  over  "the  one  that  got  away" — so  much  larger 
than  any  that  were  caught — and  when  we  were  rested,  on  with  our 
work  until  the  long  shadows  warned  us  that  it  was  time  to  turn  our 
faces  homeward.  Ah  me!  what  comrades  we  were!  and  I  do  believe, 
Dear  Heart  of  mine,  that  some  of  the  very  happiest  days  of  our  lives 
were  spent  amid  the  beauties  of  the  mountains  we  so  loved!  The 
mountains  of  California! 

When  the  winter  was  unusually  cold  and  damp,  we  went  to  bask 
for  a  time  in  the  hot  sun  of  the  citrus  belt,  but  in  spite  of  these 
changes,  there  were  long  months  of  continuous  grind,  and  in  time  the 
leaven  of  unrest  began  to  work  in  us. 

Many  a  morning  as  you  said  good-by  you  quoted  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  remark  about  himself,  "No  man  ever  hated  task-work  as  I 
do."  We  talked  more  frequently  about  Europe  and  the  record  of 
my  ever  ready  pencil  was  brought  to  light ;  we  lived  over  those  happy 
days,  recalling  one  incident  after  another,  glad  to  find  that  "the 
evergreen  tree  of  memory  had  not  lost  its  glossy  leaves." 

The  confinement  of  the  court-room  was  telling  seriously  upon 
your  health,  and  we  decided  that  when  your  term  of  office  expired 
you  should  be  free.  Your  intimate  friends  advised  rest,  and  keeping 
on  with  your  work;  they  argued  that  you  had  not  reached  the  age 

Page  One  Hundred  Eighty-five 


jiiiiiiiiiiiiininiiiiiniiiniinininnniiiiitntiiiiiintiiiMinnnininniiiiiiilliMiliiiiniiiininiiiiiiiitrniiniiiniiinntiniiiHiHitiiiiiiiiniirniiiiniitiniiniiiHiiiiiiiiiiuntintiin^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

aiiiiiiniiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiNiiiiuiiiuiiuiuiiiiiiiiiiiimiiuiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiuuiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiniiiiiniiiiniiiiiiu^ 

when  you  were  justified  in  giving  up,  and  urged  you  to  abandon  your 
decision;  but  you  had  fully  made  up  your  mind. 

True,  we  had  only  a  modest  fortune  to  retire  upon,  but  neither 
of  us  had  extravagant  tastes  and  we  knew  that  if  ever  the  necessity 
arose  we  could  settle  down  to  a  very  simple  life  and  be  happy  in  it. 
We  could  even  deny  ourselves — we  laughingly  told  each  other — what 
Mary  Lamb  said  her  brother  Charles  would  not,  "The  pleasure  of 
eating  strawberries  before  they  were  quite  common,  and  peas  while 
they  were  yet  dear." 

The  interest,  the  warm-hearted  expressions  of  friendship,  and 
regrets  at  our  going  away  resolved  themselves  into  a  priceless  mem- 
ory that  we  cherished  forever ;  as  we  did  the  generous  welcome  always 
given  us  upon  our  return;  and  to  me  personally,  the  spoken  and 
written  tributes  to  your  work,  your  worth,  and  your  character,  were 
d  source  of  unbounded  and  undisguised  pride  and  gratification. 

February  26,  1893,  we  sailed  from  San  Diego  for  Panama.  We 
went  ashore  at  several  Mexican  ports,  finding  cities  and  a  people  de- 
cidedly and  delightfully  foreign.  Crossing  the  Isthmus  we  were 
interested  in  the  great  mass  of  costly  and  powerful  machinery 
strewn  about  and  abandoned  to  the  elements;  machinery  provided  by 
the  French  Government  for  the  construction  of  a  ship  canal  across 
the  Isthmus  of  Panama,  under  the  direction  of  that  brilliant  man, 
diplomat  and  engineer,  Ferdinand  de  Lesseps. 


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niiniitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiliiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiitiiiiniiiiiHiriiiniiMntininiiiiuiiimiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiniiiiiiiiiiiiiinMnniiiiiiiiiiiiiiinimiitHiunitiiiiiiun 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

ininniuiiuninHMniiiiiiniiiiiinuiiiHniHiiiiiriiiniiinniiiiuniHiiiiiiiiinintiiitiiuiriiniinniiiiniuuiMiiniii:nniNniiriinii|inMuiiiiiiiniiMiiMiiniinininiiiiHinMiinuinHni^ 

PART  FIVE 

WE  spent  two  months  in  New  York,  the  summer  in  our  Central 
New  York  home  and  September  second,  1893,  sailed  for 
Liverpool  on  the  12,000  ton  S.  S.  Campania  of  the  Cunard 
line — such  a  contrast  to  the  plain,  staunch  little  3600  ton  Steamer 
Algeria  on  which  we  first  crossed  the  ocean. 

To  be  traveling  again  was  a  delight  to  us  both !  Your  health  had 
improved  so  soon  as  you  were  free  from  "task- work"  and  confmement 
within  doors;  you  were  in  fine  spirits;  time  was  our  own  to  spend  it 
as  we  would ;  but  we  little  dreamed  what  wanderers  we  were  henceforth 
to  be,  and  that  we  had  commenced  twenty  years  of  a  life  in  which  we 
were  both  perfectly  happy;  a  free-and-easy,  dolce  far  niente  life; 
following  "the  primrose  path  of  dalliance;"  going  wherever  fancy  led 
and  remaining  until  the  spirit  moved  us  to  make  a  change;  years  in 
which  we  made  six  several  visits  to  Europe  never  staying  more  than 
two  years  nor  less  than  one ;  calling  ourselves  nomads  and  vagabonds ; 
declaring  that  when  this  trip  was  over  we  would  settle  down,  and  then 
deciding  to  go  just  once  more;  weaving  a  shuttle's  path  across  the 
continent  and  between  New  York  and  European  ports. 

Ah  me !  those  years  of  close  and  constant  companionship !  I 
thank  God  for  those  blessed  years  and  their  precious  memories 
"pressed  in  my  heart  like  flowers  within  a  book!" 

In  going  to  and  returning  from  Europe,  we  always  spent 
several  months  with  relatives  in  New  York,  calling  the  Empire  state 
our  half-way  house,  lying  as  it  did,  midway  between  Europe  and  San 
Francisco.  We  enjoyed  the  large,  gay  City  immensely,  and  the  old 
home  in  summer  with  fruit  in  the  orchard,  roses  in  the  garden,  and 
glorious  views  in  every  direction  was  almost  ideal. 

Looking  South  we  saw  the  Catskill  mountains  and  looking 
North  the  Adirondack  mountains,  both  delightful  and  easily  reached, 
and  sometimes  in  answer  to  their  call  we  ran  away  for  a  while;  or  we 
would  go  to  nearby  Saratoga  Springs  to  drink  the  cold,  effervescing 
waters;  or  to  Cooper stown  for  a  sail  on  Otsego  Lake,  the  "Glimmer- 
glass"  of  Cooper,  and  so  went  the  pleasant,  happy  days  of  our  stay. 

We  found  two  San  Francisco  acquaintances  on  the  Campania 
who  were  going  direct  to  Paris,  but  hearing  what  we  had  planned, 
gladly  acted  upon  the  suggestion  that  they  should  join  us,  instead. 

We  went  from  Liverpool  to  Windemere  and  drove  leisurely 
through  the  English  Lake  District.  We  were  a  merry  party,  full  of 
enthusiasm,  taking  the  keenest  interest  and  enjoyment  in  the  pictur- 

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niininiinitmiiiiiiniiniiiiiiiiniiinrMiiitMiiMHiuniHniiniininiiiiiiimiiiimmimmiiniiiiMMiuiMniHiniiiiiiiiiMniiniriinniinuiinniiiinMiiiiiiiiMnniMiniMniiniHniiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Miiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiitimiiniiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiittiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiii 

esque  region.     The  mountains  were  low,  the  lakes  small;  not  many- 
views  were  grand,  but  it  was  all  beautiful  and  charmingly  diversified. 

To  us  personally  it  was  the  "Wordsworth  Country"  and  Words- 
worth had  long  been  one  of  our  favorite  poets.  Passing  Ambleside, 
we  came  to  Rydal,  where  we  left  the  carriage,  walked  up  a  steep  road 
to  Rydal  Mount  and  looked  down  upon  the  tree-embowered  house  in 
which  Wordsworth  lived  for  over  thirty  years,  and  where  he  died. 

At  the  pretty  village  of  Grasmere  we  saw  the  plain,  extremely 
small  stone  cottage  that  was  for  eight  years  the  home  of  the  poet  and 
his  sister  Dorothy.  That  child  of  Nature!  charming,  gifted  Dorothy 
Wordsworth ! 

We  passed  Nab  Cottage  on  the  bank  of  a  mite  of  a  lake,  where 
Coleridge  lived  for  many  years  on  friendly,  intimate  terms  with  his 
neighbors,  William  and  Dorothy  Wordsworth. 

At  the  small  market  town  of  Keswick,  where  both  Shelley  and 
Southey  had  lived,  our  delightful  drive  in  that  poet-haunted  land 
came  to  an  end.  Nearby  was  Derentwater,  the  loveliest  of  all  the 
lakes.  From  there  we  walked  to  a  romantic  gorge  that  hemmed  in 
the  Falls  of  Lodore,  made  famous  by  Southey's  lines, 

"How  the  water  comes  down  at  Lodore." 

From  the  English  lakes  we  went  to  Scotland — to  Ayr  and  the 
land  of  Burns.  We  drove  over  the  Brig  o'  Doon  where  Tam 
O'Shanter  freed  himself  from  the  witches,  saw  the  Burns  Monument, 
looked  at  Alloways  auld,  haunted  kirk,  at  the  cottage  where  Burns 
was  born  and  went  to  Mauchline  Farm  where  Burns  turned  down  a 
daisy  with  his  plough;  the  "Wee,  modest,  crimson  tipped  flower." 

Then  we  said  good-by  to  the  brigs  and  braes,  the  laverocks  and 
country  associated  with  Burns,  and  went  to  that,  immortalized  by 
Scott. 

A  small  steamer  carried  us  the  length  of  lovely  Loch  Katrine. 
The  richly  wooded  shores,  the  steep  cliffs,  the  bold  mountain  peaks 
and  the  exquisite  charm  of  Ellen's  Isle — that  will  live  forever  in  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake — called  forth  from  our  little  party  exclamations  of 
enthusiastic  delight. 

On  top  of  a  coach  we  rode  through  the  romantic,  finely  wooded 
valley  of  the  Trossachs.  The  sun  of  a  September  afternoon  made 
perfect,  Scott's  picture, 

"Each  purple  peak,  each  flinty  spire. 
Was  bathed  in  floods  of  living  fire." 

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iiniHiHiHiiiiniiiiiiMiiiiiiiniiiitniiniiniiiiMniiininiiMiiiiiHiiiiiiniiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiHiiiiiiiiiiinniiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiniintiiiiiiriiiitiiiiiMiiiiiniiiiiiinnnininiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiMiiiinnniiNniuHiniiiiiiuiiinniniiiiiiniinMiiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimitiiiiiiiiiiniuiiiiHiiiiiiiiniiiiinininiiiuiMininiiniiimiiuiniuiiiiiiiiiinininn 

When  we  reached  the  Trossach's  Hotel  we  were  all  shivering 
with  cold.  One  of  our  party  suggested  hot  lemonade  with  a  little 
stick  in  it.    He  went  to  the  bar  and  orderd  hot  lemonade. 

The  man  at  the  bar  said  "hot  lemon-ade;  I  never  heard  of  it. 
If  you  will  tell  me  how  it  is  made  I  will  see  that  you  get  it." 

"Put  some  sugar  and  slices  of  lemon  in  a  glass  and  pour  on  hot 
water"  was  the  answer. 

The  man  at  the  bar  smiled  a  supercilious  smile,  saying  "Why 
what  you  want  is  four  glasses  of  hot  lemon  squash" 

It  was  good  and  it  was  hot ;  we  clambered  back  on  the  coach 
and  rode  in  comfort  to  Callander,  where  we  took  the  train  for 
Stirling. 

Stirling  Castle,  ancient  and  picturesque,  situated  on  a  lofty 
height  overlooking  the  town  interested  us  immensely.  From  a  wind- 
swept terrace  of  the  Upper  Court  we  had  a  magnificent  view  of  the 
mountains,  water,  and  an  extended  plain,  embracing  the  battlefield  of 
Bannockburn. 

From  Stirling  we  went  to  Edinburgh  and  the  jovial  days  of  our 
little  excursion  ended.  There  our  friends  left  us,  speeding  away  in 
the  night  on  the  "Flying  Scotchman." 

We  were  delighted  with  Edinburgh.  Princes  Street  with  the 
beautiful  Scott  Monument,  the  pretty  gardens  and  general  animation 
was  an  adorable  street;  the  National  Gallery  was  full  of  fine  pictures 
and  particularly  rich  in  lovely  portraits;  the  old  Castle,  with  draw- 
bridge, moat  and  portcullis,  high  above  the  City  was  our  objective 
point  at  sunset,  where  we  enjoyed  a  view  of  the  City,  the  Firth  of 
Forth  and  the  Highlands,  and  watched  the  change  of  Guard  to  the 
music  of  bagpipes — that  weird  music  so  captivating  to  us  both  that 
we  followed,  block  after  block,  every  stray  piper  we  fell  in  with. 

We  strolled  through  the  narrow  passage-ways  of  the  quaint 
"Old  Town"  between  houses  twelve  stories  high;  went  to  Holyrood 
Palace  and  saw  the  gloomy  rooms  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  occupied. 

From  Edinburgh  we  went  to  that  beautiful,  romantic  ruin, 
Melrose  Abbey;  admired  the  lovely  East  window  described  by  Scott 
in  the  Lay  of  the  last  Minstrel ;  then  to  Abbotsf  ord,  a  stately  house  on 
a  broad  lawn  stretching  down  to  the  river  Tweed — were  shown  Sir 
Walter's  study  and  several  rooms  used  by  him  all  full  of  interesting 
things,  and  from  Abbotsf  ord  to  Dryburgh  Abbey,  where  Scott  and 
Lockhart  rest. 

We  spent  October  in  dear,  grimy,  familiar  old  London,  Novem- 

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wniMiniiniiiiiniiiuiiiiiiiiiiMiniiiiiiiiiiiMninnimintniiiiinninnmniimmmmiiiiiimiiiiiHuiiniiMtimHiinnniiniiiitMinninninminiiiniiiiniiniiiniimiinniiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

tiiiiiiiiiiiiHmiuiinniiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiniiimiiiuiniHiniiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiniiiiiMmiiiiiiiiMniiiiiMHiiiHiiiiiiiiiiuiNiiHiiiniiiniiiiminuiniiiiiiiiiiMiMim^^ 

ber  in  "gay  Paree,"  leaving  there  on  December  first  for  the  Riviera. 
In  the  country  men  were  plowing  with  oxen  in  teams  of  four  or  six 
— they  were  all  drabby-white  in  color,  making  a  succession  of  Rosa 
Bonheur  pictures. 

We  stopped  over  night  at  Dijon  in  the  fertile  plain  of  Bur- 
gundy. In  the  old  part  of  the  town  we  saw  many  quaint  houses,  a 
fine  Cathedral  and  an  old  church  with  beautiful  facade — one  of  the 
turrets  held  a  clock,  the  hours  of  which  were  struck  by  two  bizarre 
figures.  We  were  familiar  with  the  excellent  mustard  made  in  Dijon 
but  of  the  delicious  honey  cake  we  had  never  heard. 

Marseilles,  the  busy  seaport,  gave  us  a  pleasanter  reception  than 
on  our  former  visit.  We  saw  the  harbors,  the  steep,  dark,  narrow 
streets  of  the  old  town  where  the  sea-faring  people  lived,  the  fine 
houses  on  the  Prado,  the  villas  on  the  famous  Rue  Cannabiere,  had 
a  fine  view  from  the  hill  crowned  by  the  church  Notre  Dame  de  la 
Garde,  and  on  the  esplanade  sat  under  a  large  umbrella  on  the  side- 
walk and  ate  bouillabasse,  looking  the  while  across  the  blue  water  to 
Chateau  d'lf  on  a  nearby  island,  and  talking  of  Duma's  Count  of 
Monte  Cristo. 

From  Marseilles  to  Nice,  and  by  a  fortunate  chance  we  went  to 
a  small,  family  hotel  owned  and  managed  by  a  warm-hearted,  delight- 
ful French  lady  who  took  great  pride  in  the  excellence  of  her  cuisine, 
and  in  making  her  guests  so  comfortable  and  contented  that  they 
willingly  dispensed  with  the  modern  improvements  found  in  most 
houses.  The  house  faced  full  South  on  a  large  garden  of  palm  and 
orange  trees  with  beds  of  old  fashioned  flowers  and  great  bunches  of 
lavender,  the  stems  of  which  went  to  the  closet  where  bed  linen  was 
kept. 

We  were  given  a  good  sized  room  with  two  large,  sunny  windows 
looking  on  the  garden.  The  room  was  comfortably  furnished  and 
prints  of  famous  French  beauties  hung  on  the  walls ;  a  heavy  red  cord 
with  a  tassel  on  the  end  was  a  conspicuous  object;  it  connected  with  a 
bell  in  the  hall  and  was  the  medium  through  which  we  summoned  a 
servant.  A  reading  lamp  full  of  olive  oil  was  on  the  table  and  large 
candles — ^bougies — on  the  mantle  and  dressing  table,  only  the  ground 
floor  (dining  room  and  salons)  being  lighted  by  gas. 

It  was  near  the  close  of  day,  when  a  chill  comes  in  all  semi-trop- 
ical climates  and  Madame  ordered  a  fire.  After  it  was  lighted  the 
garcon  brought  in  two  baskets  that  he  placed  on  either  side  of  the 
grate  that  we  might  do  our  own  replenishing.  One  basket  contained 
pine  cones,  the  other  oak  wood. 

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iiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiimitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitii niiiiiiiiinMiiniinniminmiminmiiiiiimiiiiinmimniiniiniiiiimiinniniiiinniiiiiMiHiiiuiniHninmiiiiimiiiiiiiimnnMMiimiiiiiiiiiniiiiniM 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

utiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiinniiiiiitiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiKiiiimiiiiiiiimiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin 

After  an  excellent  dinner  we  were  introduced  to  the  permanent 
winter  colony  of  the  house.  A  half  dozen  expatriated  Americans, 
mothers  and  daughters,  cultured  and  agreeable,  going  back  to  Boston, 
their  home  city,  so  seldom  that  when  there  they  felt  like  strangers  in 
a  strange  land.  Two  retired  British  officers,  both  of  whom  had  seen 
service  in  India.  A  Scotch  lady  and  her  son.  Two  French  couples 
from  Northern  France.  A  German  Baron  and  Baroness  located, 
then  and  ever  after,  in  the  room  adjoining  ours.  A  delightful  set  of 
people  of  varied  and  interesting  experience  with  whom  we  were  soon 
on  pleasant  and  familiar  terms. 

When  we  went  to  our  room,  we  put  out  the  lights  and  sat  for  a 
long  time  before  the  grate,  feeding  the  fire  with  resinous  pine  cones 
that  gave  out  a  deUcious  fragrance.  We  felt  very  happy,  and  that 
"our  lines  had  fallen  in  pleasant  places,"  but  with  no  thought  that  in 
the  years  to  come  we  would  spend  from  three  to  four  months  of  eight 
winter  seasons  in  that  house;  the  room  in  which  we  sat  a  welcome 
home,  where  we  rested  from  travel,  were  content  and  happy. 

As  the  season  advanced  the  house  became  more  and  more  cos- 
mopolitan, and  the  people  from  strange  countries  with  unpronounc- 
able  names  interested  us  greatly.  Many  Russians,  the  ladies  beauti- 
fully gowned  and  inveterate  smokers  of  cigarettes ;  a  large  contingent 
from  the  Balkan  States  "that  Motherland  of  wars"  and  beautiful 
women,  if  we  could  judge  from  those  we  saw;  visitors  from  every 
part  of  the  civilized  World,  including  a  goodly  quota  from  our  own 
native  land. 

The  light  Continental  breakfast  was  served  in  the  rooms,  stroll- 
ing musicians,  mostly  from  Italy  singing  beneath  the  windows ;  many 
had  good  voices  and  with  accompaniment  of  guitar  or  mandolin  their 
music  was  often  enjoyable.  The  dinner  hour  was  seven-thirty  o'clock 
and  to  break  the  long  fast  from  luncheon,  we  fell  into  the  English 
habit  of  afternoon  tea,  taken  in  our  room  or  at  one  of  the  popular 
tea  rooms. 

On  Christmas  day,  our  hotel — as  was  the  custom  with  all — ^gave 
the  guests  a  great  dinner.  Choice  viands  were  supplemented  by 
choice  wines — sauterne,  claret  and  champagne  ad  libitum  which  every 
gentleman  was  in  honor  bound  to  remember  when  ordering  from  the 
wine  card  thereafter. 

During  the  winter  an  occasional  fancy  dress  or  masquerade  party 
in  which  every  one  joined  would  be  gotten  up,  and  on  ordinary  even- 
ings there  was  dancing  for  the  young  set,  and  in  the  card  room  a  good 
game  of  bridge  for  us. 

We  spent  five  seasons  in  the  old-fashioned  house  and  then  re- 

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■iiHiiitirniiiiiinrnniirHriiHmmnininniiMiiirinniiiHnnininiiiintninnuiimiiiriHiiiiNiiiiiiiiiiiinintiniiinMrniiiiniiiiniiHiiiHiiiiniiiininiiiininmnrtMtiiiiiiiiniu 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

■imininnuiiiiiniHinimiiMiiiiiimiininniniiuiiiMiiiiniiiiiumnHHHminmiiminHmiiumiuuiumimiiniiiiiMiiiiininiiiiuiiiiiiirMimiiMinuiiiiniiiniuiinMHiiniiH 

turned  to  find  that  dear  Madame  V.  had  sold  the  establishment  to  an 
hotelier  from  Paris.  The  new  proprietor  had  introduced  what  from 
his  point  of  view  were  the  requirements  of  modern  life.  Small  tables 
in  the  dining  room  where  the  long  tables  d'hote  had  stood.  Pipes  for 
steam  and  electricity  found  their  way  within  the  old  walls.  Our  lamp 
and  wax  candles  were  replaced  by  electric  lights ;  our  red  bell  cord  by 
an  electric  push  button;  but  saddest  of  all  was  the  arrogant  radiator 
and  the  closing  of  the  cheerful  fireplace  that  had  given  us  so  much 
pleasure. 

The  prices  under  the  new  management  were  much  advanced,  but 
nothing  was  added  to  comfort.  Most  of  the  old  set  were  still  there 
and  through  their  intercession  we  secured  our  old  room,  but  for  a 
long  time  we  sighed  for  our  lamp  and  bougies ;  our  oak  wood  and  our 
resinous  pine  cones. 

Ah  me!  that  friendly,  familiar  house!  How  often  at  an  early 
morning  hour,  when  as  migratory  birds  about  to  wing  our  way  to 
other  scenes,  at  nearly  every  window  of  the  pleasant  front  some  one 
would  be  stationed  to  see  us  off.  Then,  as  our  carriage  rolled  away 
we  would  see  a  flutter  of  hands  and  hear  in  chorus,  good-by,  au  revoir, 
aufwiedersehen. 

The  bright,  little  City  of  Nice  had  many  attractions.  The  open 
air  market  and  the  long  row  of  women  under  large,  gay  umbrellas 
surrounded  by  beautiful  flowers  in  great  variety  and  moderate  in 
price.  Every  morning  the  place  was  thronged  by  visitors  admiring 
and  buying,  and  little  girls  with  baskets  on  their  pretty  heads  were 
carrying  home  the  flowers  ladies  had  bought. 

In  shop  windows  we  saw  lovely  creations  from  the  great  cou- 
turieres  of  Paris;  and  precious  stones  in  exquisite  setting  sent  by  the 
jewelers  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix;  and  the  pawnbroking  establishment 
of  Paris,  the  Mont-de-piete  offered  for  sale  rare  and  curious  pieces 
of  jewelry,  heirlooms  undoubtedly,  lost  by  victims  of  play  at  Monte 
Carlo. 

In  the  shop  of  Potin,  the  famous  Paris  grocer,  we  saw  luxuries 
from  all  parts  of  the  World,  but  nothing  that  compared  in  beauty 
to  the  pears  and  apples  grown  on  espaliers  in  the  fair  land  of  France. 
In  infancy  the  pears  were  encased  in  thin,  pear-shaped  glasses  to 
protect  them  from  bees,  birds,  wind  and  rain ;  and  on  sunny  walls  they 
grew  and  ripened  and  took  on  a  wonderful  color.  Each  in  a  nest  of 
white  cotton  wool,  the  red  cheek  uppermost,  they  were  a  pretty  sight. 
Considering  the  care  bestowed  upon  them  the  price  of  ten  francs  each 
was  not  excessive,  but  we  never  had  the  courage  to  buy  one,  although 

Page  One  Hundred  Ninety-two 


tiiHiitmriMiiiinrinniiMriiiiirnmiiitniiiiiiininnjiniiniiriirMinntniiiMirniiniiiimiiiriiiinirntiiririiiiMitiiHMriitinnHninnnnMiiniiiiriinMiinmiiMirmtiinnritmiMiiuti^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

miiiiiiiiMnniinniiiiiiMininiiiiiiiniiiiniiiiniiiiiiiiininniiiniiiiiHiiiiiiHiiiumiiiiiiuiMiiiiiniitiiiiiiuimiiuiiminiiiiuiniiiinnnniiiinNnnniiiiniiMiiiHiiiin 

we  did  treat  ourselves  now  and  then  to  a  large  apple — a  rennet — at 
a  franc  and  a  half  and  found  it  so  good  that  you  said  it  was  well 
worth  the  money. 

The  proprietor  of  a  small  flower  shop  that  we  often  visited  was 
a  very  wizard  in  horticulture.  He  showed  us  one  day  two  bushes 
of  white  lilacs  in  full  bloom,  and  a  cherry  tree  loaded  with  ripe,  red 
fruit  that  he  was  just  sending  to  the  villa  of  a  Russian  nobleman, 
filling  an  order  given  the  previous  winter.  The  little  tree  stood  on  a 
platform  with  castors  and  was  to  go  from  guest  to  guest  at  a  January 
birthday  dinner  party. 

The  walks  about  Nice  were  many  and  all  full  of  charm.  Some- 
times we  sauntered  with  the  fashionable  crowd  on  the  Promenade 
des  Anglais  along  the  sea  shore,  but  the  walks  of  our  delight  were 
among  the  encircling  hills,  where  from  summits  we  saw  the  snow- 
crowned  Alps — going  through  villa  gardens  from  one  to  another  on 
and  up  "without  let  or  hindrance;"  but  as  tourist  travel  increased 
and  depredations  became  common — I  am  sorry  to  say  Americans  were 
considered  the  worst  offenders — the  privilege  was  gradually  narrowed 
until  over  the  entrance  to  every  villa  garden  the  sign,  "defendu 
d'entrer,"  or  "rue  barree,"  met  our  eyes.  The  villas  were  lovely; 
built  on  classic  lines ;  of  pale-tinted  stucco  in  colors  of  cream,  olive  or 
tan,  with  flower  gardens,  palms  and  pines  and  orange  trees,  and  shin- 
ing far  below,  the  blue,  sun-lit  sea. 

Often  our  path  led  through  old  olive  groves,  the  trees  of  great 
size,  and  always  a  picturesque  Patriarch  or  two  with  gnarled  and 
twisted  trunk  that  scientists  said  must  have  been  planted  by  the 
Romans,  when  having  captured  the  Maritime  Alps  they  established  a 
seat  of  Government  at  Cimiez,  one  of  the  low  hills  back  of  Nice, 
where  the  ruins  of  an  amphitheater  and  baths  yet  remain. 

Frequently  we  came  upon  the  gathering  of  the  small  but  abund- 
ant fruit.  Men  in  the  trees  beating  down  the  olives,  women  and  chil- 
dren picking  them  up.  One  day  we  followed  a  pretty  girl  with  her 
two  buckets  of  olives  to  a  mill,  where  by  the  most  primitive  process 
the  fruit  was  crushed  and  the  oil  freed.  From  these  small  mills  the 
oil  was  taken  to  refining  houses  and  prepared  for  market. 

Our  favorite  walk  of  all  led  to  the  heights  above  through  the 
open  country  dotted  with  thickets  of  bay  trees,  myrtle,  and  bunches  of 
rosemary,  the  ground  covered  with  fragrant  aromatic  herbs — sweet 
thyme,  sage,  sweet  marjoram  and  wild  lavender.  As  our  feet  bruised 
and  broke  the  dry  stems  and  leaves,  they  gave  out  a  most  delightful 
perfume.     In  the  spring,  from  those  sweet  blossoming  plants  the 

Page  One  Hundred  Ninety-three 


•iiiiuiticiiiiiitHiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiinHiiiMninntiiiMiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiniiiiiHitiimiiiiiiHiniiinintiiniiiiiiiiiiinitiiiitiiitnniiniMniiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMirMinniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiinn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii MniiuiiniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinmiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiMiiiiimiiiiiiiiimiimiiimiiiimiiuiimiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiw 

bees  made  the  famous  miel  de  Nice.  The  honey  had  a  strong  flavor 
of  herbs  that  we  were  very  fond  of  and  always  had  it  on  our  break- 
fast table. 

From  the  time  when  King  Carnival  arrived,  escorted  by 
mounted  gendarmes,  bands  of  music  and  trumpeters,  to  the  night 
when  he  was  burned  in  the  market  place,  his  throne  transformed  into 
a  funeral  pile,  general  demoralization  prevailed  in  Nice.  The  hotels 
were  over-crowded,  the  natives  gave  themselves  up  to  idleness,  and 
small  shops  where  work  and  repairs  were  done  were  never  open. 

Most  of  the  winter  habitues  dreaded  and  detested  the  Carnival. 
The  new-comers  were  curious,  interested,  or  enthusiastic.  I  belonged 
to  the  latter  class  and  was  keen  to  take  an  active  part.  When  I 
learned  that  the  Baron,  the  Admiral  and  the  Colonel  had  each  in 
their  first  season  participated,  I  coaxed  and  coaxed  until  you  con- 
sented to  go. 

We  left  the  house  a  merry  party  of  twenty,  every  one  in  mask 
and  domino.  When  we  reached  the  large  square  where  the  maskers 
congregated  we  were  soon  separated.  When  I  saw  you  again  you 
were  defending  yourself  against  three  girls  who  were  trying  to  take 
off  your  mask.  I  was  amused,  but  remembering  how  reluctantly  you 
had  come,  and  that  you  would  dislike  to  have  your  mask  pulled  from 
your  face,  I  stepped  between  you  and  your  assailants  saying,  "Three 
against  one  is  not  fair  play,"  upon  which  they  all  ran  away. 

You  said  you  were  glad  I  had  come  to  the  rescue  and  laughed  so 
heartily  that  I  was  surprised  and  disappointed  when  you  added, 

"No  more  of  this  foolishness  for  me.  I  am  going  to  make  a 
bee-line  for  home." 

I  remained  with  the  party  and  went  with  them  occasionally  dur- 
ing that  and  subsequent  seasons  when  thousands  of  human  beings, 
each  in  mask  and  domino  made  the  streets  and  squares  a  scene  of 
brightness  and  animation. 

The  Carnival  procession  with  music  and  banners,  particularly 
by  torchlight,  was  unique  and  spectacular.  Money  prizes  were  large 
and  competition  keen.  Floats,  and  masks  on  foot;  gigantic  and 
dwarfed;  grotesque  and  picturesque.  Many  floats  bore  colossal 
figures,  the  heads  towering  thirty  feet  in  the  air;  many  masks  single 
or  in  groups  were  bizarre,  many  laughable,  many  artistic ;  the  prettiest 
group  we  ever  saw  consisted  of  twelve  handsome  Russians,  six 
young  men  and  six  young  women  richly  dressed  in  the  picturesque 
skating  costume  of  their  country. 

It  was  always  a  gala  afternoon  when  the  Battle  of  Flowers  was 

Page  One  Hundred  Ninety-four 


wiiiHrMHiininiiiiHiiHiiniiMniniriniiiHiiiniiiHiiiiiiiiiHiiinMniiMnniiuMunniniiitiniiiHiiiiniMmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinHiiiiiiiiniiniiiiHniniinniiiiniiniiiiniiMiiiniiiini 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiinininiiiniiMniMiiiiiiiiiniMiiniiiiMHiniiiiiuininiinniiiiiniiMnininiiinuiiiiniiiiiniiiiMiniHniniiiiiihniiMiiuinuinniiiiniiiuniinunniinninMniniiuiiiiiimiiiuininiiiim 

on,  with  crowds  in  the  streets  to  hear  the  music  and  see  the  proces- 
sion— the  pretty  banners  given  as  prizes  and  the  long  line  of  flower- 
laden  carriages  taking  people  to  the  entrance  gate.  There  were  many 
beautifully  decorated  equipages  but  the  function  was  commercialized 
and  any  shabby  hack  with  a  few  flowers  tied  here  and  there  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  course  upon  payment  of  the  entrance  fee. 

One  glorious  day  we  went  to  Cannes,  where  a  wealthier  and  more 
exclusive  set  wintered,  and  saw  the  Battle  of  Flowers  there.  We 
secured  our  seats,  then  walked  down  to  the  beautiful  bay  in  full 
view  of  the  course.  We  counted  forty  yachts  riding  at  anchor  deco- 
rated with  bright  colored  signals,  and  flags  were  flying  from  fishing 
boats  drawn  up  in  line  along  the  shore. 

The  Admiral  sent  a  man-of-war  from  the  French  squadron  to 
dignify  the  occasion,  and  with  the  thunder  of  a  salute,  a  blare  of 
trumpets  and  the  music  of  bands  the  battle  commenced.  The  number 
of  carriages  was  not  large,  but  every  carriage  and  the  harness  of 
every  horse  was  decorated  with  choice  flowers  and  bows  and  streamers 
of  rich  ribbon;  and  the  lovely  toilets  of  the  ladies  were  in  perfect 
harmony. 

The  first  prize,  an  exquisite  banner  painted  in  water  colors,  was 
awarded  to  Mme.  Pommery  of  champagne  fame  whose  equipage  was 
adorned  profusely  with  orchids,  Marechal  Niel  roses,  and  white  lilacs. 
The  members  of  the  yacht  club  warred  around  a  flower-built  yacht 
that  was  "a  thing  of  beauty." 

For  many  years  Queen  Victoria  spent  a  part  of  every  winter  in 
a  Villa  on  Cimiez  hill,  and  the  Queen,  in  a  pony  phaeton,  Princess 
Henry  of  Battenberg  driving,  and  two  small  boys  on  low  stools 
facing  them,  were  familiar  objects  on  our  walks  among  the  secluded 
hills  of  Nice. 

The  phaeton  was  often  seen  at  a  Battle  of  Flowers  stationed 
where  the  occupants  could  witness  the  fun.  On  one  occasion  we  left 
our  seats  to  walk  about  and  passing  near  the  phaeton  I  threw  a  bunch 
of  Marie-Louise  violets  in  it. 

"You  should  not  have  done  that,"  you  said,  "there  are  notices 
that  no  flowers  are  to  be  thrown  at  the  Queen." 

One  of  the  Battenberg  boys  picked  up  the  violets  and  gave  them 
to  her  Majesty.  I  did  not  get  into  trouble  and  we  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  the  Queen  inhale  the  fragrance  of  my  violets  with  evident 
satisfaction. 

In  the  latter  years  of  our  visits  to  Nice,  horses  and  carriages 

Page  One  Hundred  Ninety-iive 


iHiiMiiimiiHtinnimiiiiiiniininiiMniiririininuHniiiiniirirniirminiiiniiiiiuimuMniiiiiiiinniMiiniiiniiiHnnirHimiiiiiiiiuiiiMiiiniiiiiiitiniiMiriitniiimimiu^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

aiuniniiiiiiiiniiuiiiiiiiiiiiinnminiiniiiiiiiiiuuiniiiiiiiniiiHiiimiiliiiiniiiitiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiniiiiiniiniiitiinnMMiiinniiimiiiMiriiiimiiniiiiiiiiniiiiniiiiiniHU 

were  mostly  supplanted  by  automobiles  in  the  Battle  of  Flowers,  and 
aviators  circled  overhead,  dropping  flowers  on  the  course. 

In  January,  1894,  an  American  squadron  came  to  Mediterranean 
waters.  The  families  of  the  Officers  in  large  numbers  crossed  the 
ocean  and  followed  the  ships  and  we  had  many  of  those  delightful 
people  at  our  house  while  the  squadron  was  anchored  at  Villefranche 
three  miles  away.  A  French  squadron  came  to  welcome  the  visiting 
ships  and  the  officers  of  the  two  flagships  gave  several  afternoon 
receptions  that  were  perfectly  charming.  The  decks  were  enclosed  by 
American  and  French  flags,  the  ceilings  festooned  with  bunting; 
and  the  shining  black  canon  seemed  quite  in  keeping  with  the  music, 
the  flowers,  the  pretty  gowns,  the  handsome  uniforms,  the  mirth  and 
good  cheer  of  a  the  dansante. 

With  a  party  of  Officers  and  their  wives  we  had  our  first  ride 
over  the  world-famous  corniche  road,  with  its  glorious  views;  and 
with  the  same  party  we  made  the  first  of  our  many  visits  to  Monte 
Carlo,  naturally  and  artificially  one  of  the  beauty  spots  of  the  Earth. 
We  strolled  through  the  gorgeous  gambling  rooms,  rested  under  the 
trees  in  the  flower-gemmed  gardens,  and  from  the  long  stretch  of 
marble  terrace  looked  over  the  turquoise-blue  water  to  the  mountains 
with  their  ever- varying  amethyst  tints. 

The  first  of  April  we  went  South.  At  Paestum  we  saw  the 
great  Temples  standing  on  the  forlorn  plain;  stood  before  the  tawny- 
colored,  majestic  Temple  of  Neptune  and  admired  the  graceful 
outlines  silhouetted  against  the  blue  of  sky  and  sea;  watched  the 
lizards  sunning  themselves  on  the  Doric  columns;  looked  in  vain  for 
the  famous  and  fragrant  Roses  of  Paestum  of  which  the  Poets  had 
sung,  and  then,  through  a  poor  looking  country  where  long-horned, 
dun-colored  cattle  roamed,  we  went  to  the  pretty  little  town  of 
La  Cava. 

The  gardens  were  full  of  sweet-scented  stock,  jasmine  and  wall 
flowers.  In  open  doorways  women  with  small,  bright-colored  shawls 
around  their  shoulders  were  spinning,  and  through  open  windows  we 
saw  others  working  at  looms.  It  was  the  twilight  hour  and  mighty 
hunters,  men  and  boys,  were  coming  from  their  days  sport. 

In  Naples  we  had  often  wondered  where  all  the  little  birds  came 
from  that  we  saw  in  the  markets.  La  Cava  seemed  to  be  the  head- 
quarters for  that  barbarous  work.  Trapped,  caught  with  snares  and 
shot!  basketfuls  of  thrushes,  blackbirds,  robins,  green  linnets,  night- 
ingales and  gold  finches.  Dear  little  feathered  creatures!  Their 
happy  songs  all  ended! 

Page  One  Hundred  Ninety-six 


uttiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiii iniiiiiiiitriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiriiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiitiininiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiinHiu 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

timiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiritiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiitiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiniiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiniiininiiiiiiiiiMiiili imi 

We  had  a  very  nice  dinner  at  the  hotel,  one  course  of  which 
neither  of  us  could  touch.  On  a  silver  skewer  little  birds,  each  not 
more  than  a  mouthful.  With  the  dessert,  a  delicacy — fit  food  for  the 
gods — was  served.  Bunches  of  raisins  dipped  in  wine,  sprinkled  with 
spices,  rolled  up  in  grape  leaves,  tied  in  bundles  and  roasted. 

The  next  morning  we  went  to  Salerno.  The  old  town  on  the 
slope  of  a  hill,  had  narrow,  crooked  streets  up  one  of  which  we 
walked  to  the  Cathedral;  a  fine  church  with  beautiful  bronze  doors. 
In  the  market  place  hundreds  of  little  birds  threaded  on  strings  were 
for  sale. 

The  drive  to  Amalfi,  ten  miles  away,  was  perfectly  delightful. 
The  fine  road,  hewn  in  the  cliif  s,  supported  by  galleries  and  running 
over  viaducts  was  carried  from  100  to  500  feet  above  sea  level  and 
curved  around  headland  after  headland  of  the  indented,  rocky,  pictur- 
esque shore,  giving  a  succession  of  charming  views.  Every  possible 
foot  of  ground,  on  the  bare  hillsides,  was  cultivated  and  planted  with 
vines,  fig,  olive,  lemon  or  orange  trees,  many  little  rock-bound 
patches  no  larger  than  a  good  sized  room. 

We  saw  pretty  towns  with  terraced  gardens  of  fruit  trees,  and 
at  the  bottom  of  ravines  picturesque  little  fishing  villages  and  many 
old,  square,  massive  watch  towers ;  some  in  ruins,  some  restored  and 
converted  into  homes. 

When  we  reached  Amalfi  we  climbed  up  the  175  steps  to  the 
Albergo  Cappuccini  Convento.  As  we  stepped  breathless  upon  the 
terrace  two  ladies  ran  with  outstretched  hands  to  welcome  us.  They 
were  wives  of  Naval  Officers  who  had  spent  the  winter  at  our  hotel 
in  Nice. 

And  oh,  that  terrace !  beloved  by  artists  and  tourists !  The  thick, 
white  pillars  twined  around  by  grape  vines;  the  heavy,  wooden  cross 
beams  above  with  the  closely  woven  mass  of  verdure;  the  view  over 
the  gardens,  the  town  below  and  the  blue  water  dotted  with  white 
sails! — how  ideally  beautiful  it  was! 

We  had  a  light  lunch  in  the  old  refectory,  a  large,  bare  room 
with  vaulted  ceiling  and  a  stone  pulpit;  then  our  party  of  four  went 
down  the  steep  path  leading  from  the  terrace  to  the  town,  on  our 
way  up  Mill  Valley — the  Valle  de  Molini,  to  see  the  swift,  little  river 
and  mills,  that  Longfellow  had  written  of  in  his  beautiful  poem  on 
Amalfi. 

With  the  musical  lines  on  our  lips,  and  in  our  minds  a  picture 
of  the  Canneto,  tumbling  through  the  narrow  gorge  and  turning  the 
wheels  of  the  mills  we  reached  the  town.    In  a  trice  the  beggars  were 

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■niiiiniiiiinnmiMiiiMtinniiiniriiiiriniiiiinMiMiininniiitiiiimmiiimimirHnmiirmHmmiiniinmiiiiriiiMtnniiiuiiiiiiiiiinmiiiiniiiiiimiiiiiiiininitiiiiiimi^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

imniuiiiiiiiiMuiiniiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiriinirininMiiiiiiiiniiiiiiininiimniiiiiiiHiimiiiimiiiiiiiiiniiiininiuiiiiiimiiiiiiiinniiitiitiiinniiiiiiniiiiiiiniiHiinmn^ 

upon  us.  A  few  soldi  and  rapid  walking  soon  rid  us  of  the  old  and 
infirm,  but  from  the  swarm  of  children  there  was  no  escape.  Swarthy, 
hair  and  eyes  intensely  black,  legs  and  feet  brown  and  dirty,  in  rags 
and  tatters  and  patches  of  red  and  yellow  on  their  scant  clothing  they 
were  picturesque  little  nuisances.  All  were  dying  of  hunger — morte 
de  fame  their  whining  cry. 

Then  a  discovery  was  made,  and  chattering  like  magpies  they 
clustered  before  one  of  our  friends.  They  blocked  her  path,  walking 
backwards  and  staring  at  her  face.  You  pushed  and  shook  the  boys 
and  scolded  the  girls  but  it  did  no  good.  Suddenly  the  persecuted 
one  said  with  a  laugh, 

'^I  know  what  the  children  are  looking  at — the  gold  in  my  teeth." 

Not  yet  twent}^  the  frail  teeth  plentifully  plugged  with  gold, 
very  animated  and  always  smiling,  the  gold  was  much  in  evidence. 
Showing  no  annoyance,  smihng  on  the  children  and  laughing  at  our 
indignation,  we  made  what  progress  we  could.  It  took  the  little  imps 
a  long  time  to  satisfy  their  curiosity,  then  they  dropped  behind  and 
set  up  the  morte  de  fame  whine. 

The  gorge  was  very  narrow,  with  many  pretty  cascades  of 
purplish  water  that  provided  power  for  the  mills.  On  both  banks  a 
succession  of  small  factories  making  paper,  soap  and  macaroni. 
Bridges  spanned  the  swift  river,  and  winding  stone  stairways  led  to 
heights  above.  Up  these  steep  stairways  bare-footed  women  and 
girls  with  long  baskets  strapped  to  their  backs  were  slowly  moving. 

"Stately  figures,  tall  and  straight," 

and  we  asked  with  Longfellow, 

"What  inexorable  fate. 
Has  bound  them  to  this  life  of  toil?" 

The  rocky  gorge  was  full  of  noise  and  industry.  Pretty  girls 
employed  in  the  factories  smiled  at  us  from  open  doorways,  and  men 
gave  the  forestieri  pleasant  greeting. 

Back  in  the  town  we  went  up  a  broad  flight  of  steps  to  the 
grand,  old  Cathedral  whose  tall,  red  and  white  marble  campanile  we 
had  seen  shining  against  the  blue  sky  since  first  Amalfi  came  in 
sight.  The  beautiful  doors  were  of  chiseled  bronze;  the  interior  im- 
pressive and  sweet  with  incense.  We  looked  into  the  pretty  cloistered 
court,  then  down  to  the  quaint  old  square  adorned  by  a  fountain  and 
a  statue  of  St.  Andrew,  the  patron  Saint  of  Amalfi. 

Surrounded  by  beggars  we  continued  on  to  the  shore  of  the  Bay 

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tiHiiiiiiiiniinMitriiiiiirinnriiiriiinNiiiiMiiitMiinniiiuiiiiiinininniiiiiniiiiiiriiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniitiiitnnirniinriiiinnriinniiriiiiinHiiiuiiiininniinMiiinniMiiniiiim 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

'iiuMniinnnruriiiuiiunHMniiriiniiinMiiiHtinMiniininiuiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiuiMiitnuiiiiiiiiniHiHniiiiiiinniniiiiiriiiiiHiMiiiiiniiiiniiniiiuiiininiiHniiiiiiinnMiiiiiiiiiiiniii 

where  women  were  mending  nets,  children  playing  in  the  sand  and 
fishermen  in  red  caps  and  sashes  were  cleaning  and  painting  their 
boats.  To  our  great  relief  the  fishermen  drove  the  beggars,  old  and 
young,  back  to  the  town. 

We  met  many  sad-faced,  brown-robed  Capuchin  friars  with  bare 
feet  and  girdles  of  knotted  rope.  We  did  feel  sorry  for  those  poor 
monks  driven  from  such  a  Paradise  as  the  monastery  above,  which 
we  were  privileged  to  enjoy.  It  was  a  tired  party  that  climbed  the 
winding  steps  near  the  close  of  day  and  walked  through  the  long, 
white-washed  corridors  to  their  little  cells,  each  furnished  with  a 
chair,  a  tiny  wash-stand  and  an  iron  bed. 

Rest,  a  good  dinner,  then  a  glorious  evening  on  the  terrace, 
under  a  star-lit  sky,  the  breeze  wafting  perfume  from  the  garden, 
and  quivering  on  the  water  below  long  lines  of  yellow  light  reflected 
from  the  lamps  of  the  town. 

Dolce  far  niente — yes,  it  surely  was  sweet  to  do  nothing  for  an 
entire  day  in  that  delightful  place,  but  walk  among  the  flowers  and 
under  the  orange  and  lemon  trees;  to  hear  the  birds  singing  and 
watch  from  the  terrace  the  fishing  boats  gliding  over  the  dazzling 
water.  I  thought  it  a  great  hardship  for  you  to  go  to  the  town  to 
arrange  for  a  carriage  on  the  morrow  and  when  I  saw  you  returning 
ran  down  the  steps  with  a  rose  in  my  hand  which  I  gave  you  when 
we  met.    You  took  the  rose  and  kissed  my  hand,  saying, 

"Is  this  your  idea  of  taking  a  rest?  I  ought  to  scold  you  for 
coming  to  meet  me." 

But  I  knew  you  were  pleased  and  we  went  up  the  steps  hand 
in  hand. 

"What  a  little  thing  to  remember  for  years. 
To  remember — with  tears!" 

Early  the  next  morning  we  went  down  to  the  waiting  carriage, 
with  many  a  backward  glance  at  the  arcaded  facade  of  the  Convent 
Hotel.  The  road,  as  from  Salerno  to  Amalfi,  curved  around  the 
clifl's  of  the  coast,  wild,  indented  and  picturesque,  with  lovely  views 
and  careful  cultivation.  We  were  all  on  the  watch  for  the  Isles  of 
the  Sirens,  past  which  Ulysses  safely  sailed  when  searching  for  his 
island  home  and  his  faithful  Penelope.  Rising  from  the  blue  waters, 
we  saw  the  bare,  rocky  bluff's  of  the  Greek  legend,  to  which  golden- 
haired  Sirens  lured  their  prey,  as  told  in  the  Odyssey. 

The  delightful  Corniche  road  was  not  yet  completed,  and  we 
covered  the  break  in  a  row  boat,  between  two  villages,  a  distance  of 

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MiiitniiiiiiiiiitMiiniiiitnMiinitiiiiuiMiminiiiiiiiinMnnininiinniiiniiiiimmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininiiiiiinniinMiininiiiiiniiiiinniniinintinniMiiiiiiiinminiunnm 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

ininiiiiuiiiiiniiiiiiiiiHiiniiiiiiiiinnMMiiiiiiiiiMiuiiiMHiniinnunniinMiMniHniiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiliniiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiim 

four  miles.  As  we  slipped  along  over  the  sparkling  water,  she  of 
the  golden  smile,  and  a  few  Italian  words  began  to  coax  the  boatmen 
for  un  canto.  At  first  they  only  shrugged  their  shoulders  and  smiled. 
She  returned  the  smiles  and  continued  to  ask  for  un  canto.  After  a 
little  talk  between  themselves  they  sang  a  boating  song  with  clear, 
strong,  musical  voices.  We  were  delighted  and  so  full  of  enthusiasm 
that  they  repeated  it,  and  after  that,  in  response  to  entreaties  sang 
one  canto  d'  amore  after  another. 

Under  the  shelving  rocks  masses  of  sea  anemones  of  many 
colors  and  brilliant  as  a  garden  bed  gladdened  our  eyes.  Sometimes 
we  saw  them  through  the  clear  water,  sometimes  as  the  little  waves 
receded  and  left  them  bare,  and  very  lovely  they  were. 

As  we  stepped  out  of  the  boat  at  Positano — where  a  carriage 
from  Sorento  was  to  meet  us — ^we  found  a  bevy  of  young  girls  await- 
ing us.  The  ascent  to  the  street  was  very  steep  and  stony.  The  girls 
clustered  around  us  talking  with  animation  and  going  through  cer- 
tain motions,  but  it  took  a  long  time  to  make  us  understand  what 
they  wanted — that  we  should  clasp  our  hands,  or  fold  our  arms,  that 
they  might  help  us  up  the  bank  by  our  elbows. 

As  there  were  not  enough  elbows  to  go  around,  some  of  the 
girls  had  to  be  satisfied  with  hand-bags.  At  last  all  but  two  were 
provided  with  work.  Of  course,  you  would  not  consent  to  the  elbow 
help,  but  compromised  by  giving  your  overcoat  to  the  disconsolate 
little  damsels  to  carry  between  them.  Then  all  was  ready.  Soon  as 
the  procession  started  the  girls  began  to  sing.  It  was  a  rhj^thmic 
little  tune  with  the  soft-sounding  Italian  words  spoken  distinctly  and 
prettily. 

"Chi  va  piano,  va  sano  e  lontano, 

Chi  va  forte,  va  a  la  morte." 

We  did  go  slowly;  we  could  not  have  done  otherwise,  and  with 
the  words  sung  over  and  over  again,  we  reached  the  level  of  the 
town. 

We  ate  the  lunch  (put  up  for  us  at  the  Hotel  where  our  carriage 
was  waiting)  on  the  mountain  road.  The  air  was  scented  with  broom 
and  myrtle  that  grew  on  the  wild  hillside.  Little  towns  perched  on 
mountain  summits,  ruins  of  watch  towers  whose  bells  gave  warning 
when  pirates  approached,  patches  of  verdure,  and  beyond  the  sharp, 
tapering  cliffs  of  the  coast  line  the  wonderful  blue  of  the  sea.  A 
most  delightful  road! 

Suddenly,  the  Bay  of  Naples  came  in  sight,  and  then  by  curve 
after  curve  we  descended  to  the  fertile  plain ;  to  vineyards,  and  groves 

Page  Two  Hundred 


wniitinniiiiiiiniiiiiiiiunniniininnMiiiiinniiMiiiiniiiininiiiiHiiinnuinnMimiiimniiniiiiimiiuimnHniiiiiHiiiMnitiinmiiiniiiiiiMiiiiiniiiiminHiMmimiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

mHiijrnnHiuiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiinMiiiininMiMiiiiiiiiiuMiiiiniiiMiiiiiinmiliiniiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinMnumniniiiHirriiMiriMniuiiinniiinMiMnuiiuiiMnmiuniinMnuuiinuunninunniitin 

of  orange,  lemon  and  fig ;  to  tree-embowered  villas  and  cottages ;  and 
Sorento. 

We  took  an  afternoon  boat  to  Naples,  went  with  our  charming 
friends  to  their  Hotel,  renewed  acquaintance  with  several  Officers 
and  their  families,  and  the  following  day  said  good-by  and  turned 
our  faces  to  the  North. 

We  spent  several  days  in  Rome  then  went  to  Bologna,  the  first 
of  many  visits  to  that  pleasant,  interesting  middle-age  City.  Our 
hotel  was  an  old  palace  that  had  been  the  home  of  a  great  family  in 
Bologna's  palmy  days.  The  house  was  charming  with  spacious  rooms 
and  an  inner  court  surrounded  by  beautiful  galleries. 

The  proprietor  matched  the  house.  He  was  handsome  and 
courjteous;  spoke  English  imperfectly,  accenting  the  vowels  and 
making  many  words  sound  strange  but  musical.  As  we  were  starting 
out  to  see  the  City  you  asked  where  to  find  certain  objects  of  interest. 
Our  host  said  he  was  going  in  the  same  direction  and  we  walked  out 
together.  He  told  us  he  was  on  his  way  to  see  his  pet — a  caged 
nightingale  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  send  to  a  friend's  house  that 
his  guests  might  have  quiet  and  sleep  through  the  night, — that  now, 
the  bird  would  not  sing  a  note  except  during  his  visits,  eating  little 
and  moping  and  pining  so  constantly  that  he  feared  his  pet  might  die. 
Finding  us  muy  simpatica,  he  invited  us  to  go  with  him  and  see  the 
bird.  The  poor  little  thing  sat  on  his  perch  with  ruffled  feathers,  his 
head  under  a  wing.  When  he  heard  the  familiar  whistle  out  came  the 
little  head.  Our  host  put  a  finger  through  the  bars  of  the  cage;  the 
bird  hopped  upon  it  and  burst  into  the  wildest,  most  ecstatic  song. 
That  dear  bird!  what  a  wonderful  voice  he  had!  We  listened  for  a 
long  time,  then  left  the  re-united  friends  and  went  on  our  way. 

We  saw  the  old  University  where  Dante,  Petrarch  and  Tasso 
were  students ;  the  two  leaning  towers ;  the  arcaded  streets  with  quaint 
houses;  the  grand,  old  plane  trees;  the  factories  and  shops  where  the 
famous  Bologna  sausage — ^mortadella — was  made  and  displayed;  in 
some  windows  wrapped  with  fancy  labels  for  tourists  to  carry  away. 

We  went  to  Ferrara  and  Padua;  both  delightful  and  full  of 
romantic  and  historical  interest. 

When  we  reached  Venice  we  found  great  excitement  prevailing 
over  the  coming  visits  of  the  King  of  Italy  and  the  Emperor  of 
Germany.  The  King  came  on  the  day  of  our  arrival,  and  the 
Emperor  the  day  following. 

Salvos  of  artillery  burst  upon  the  air  as  his  Majesty's  beautiful, 

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'iiiiiiiiiriirniitiMiiniiinininitiMiiiiiMirinniuiriniiniiiiniiiunniiiiiiiiHiiiniiuiiiMiiiiiiuiniininiiiinHnimrmniiiniiHniiiminiiiiiiilHiiiiiiiitinmiiiiiniiiiniiirHii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiHiiiMimniiiiiiiiiiiiiMmiiiiiiiiuininiiiiriinniiMinjnuiiniinMiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiinmmiiiiHiiiiiHiiitiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiniiiiniiiiiiiniininiiininininniiHiin 

white  yacht,  the  Hohenzollern  came  to  anchor  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Grand  Canal. 

The  King  in  a  State  gondola  flying  the  flag  of  Italy  paid  his 
visit  of  ceremony.  On  the  yacht's  deck  the  Monarchs  met,  saluting 
each  other  on  both  cheeks  as  is  the  custom  on  the  Continent  of 
Europe  between  men — relatives  or  friends  and  particularly  so  among 
the  Germans.  Soon  after  the  King's  return,  the  Emperor  in  one  of 
his  own  boats  was  rowed  ashore.  Down  the  wide  crimson  carpet  that 
stretched  from  the  Royal  Palace  to  the  waters  edge  the  King  came 
to  meet  his  guest.  Together  they  went  up  the  steps,  then  turned  to 
look  at  the  spectacle  before  them. 

And  what  a  spectacle  it  was!  Hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
gondolas  dotted  the  water.  A  few  shabby  gondolas  with  women  and 
children  of  the  poor;  smart  gondolas  of  the  prosperous  class;  trim 
gondolas  filled  with  happy  tourists  glad  to  be  in  Venice  on  that 
festive  occasion;  handsome  gondolas  of  the  foreign  resident  colony; 
elegant  gondolas  of  the  aristocracy  with  carving  and  crests  and  gold 
embroidered  canopies  and  statuesque  gondoliers  in  handsome  uni- 
form. 

Many  families  brought  out  their  gondolas  of  State  with  gondo- 
liers in  the  dress  of  the  olden  time,  parti-colored  hose,  slashed  doublets 
and  long  yellow  ringlets  falling  beneath  the  quaintest  of  hats.  And 
ah!  Dear  Heart,  what  delight  those  gondolas  gave  us!  with  their 
patrician  occupants.  Men  and  lovely  women  with  faces  like  those 
the  old  Venetian  Masters  painted. 

The  Grand  Canal  was  aglow  with  color.  Italian  and  German 
flags  fluttered  in  the  breeze.  Windows  and  balconies  were  hung  with 
tapestries,  bright-colored  velvets  and  Oriental  rugs,  and  the  sparkling, 
sunlit  water  reflected  the  brilliant  Palace  facades  and  the  gorgeous 
pageant  that  passed  along. 

After  dinner  we  went  to  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark.  We  found 
many  people  there  all  looking  towards  the  Palace.  In  response  to  re- 
peated calls  for  il  Re  and  VImperatore,  the  King  and  Emperor  ap- 
peared upon  the  balcony  bowing  and  smiling  upon  the  crowd  below. 
Once  again  they  came  in  answer  to  continued  calls,  then  retiring  with- 
in the  Palace  the  shades  were  drawn  before  the  windows  and  the 
crowd  dispersed. 

At  ten  o'clock  there  was  a  serenata.  A  large,  military  band  in  a 
decorated  barge,  lighted  by  lanterns  of  various  color  came  down  the 
Grand  Canal,  filling  the  air  with  most  delightful  music.  On  both 
sides  of  the  barge  and  in  the  rear  hundreds  of  gondolas  rolled  gently 

Page  Two  Hundred  Two 


MiinMiiininniiiiiiiiiniiiiniinmMiniiiitimniiniitiiiiiinmitiiiMtiininitiiiriiiiiiHininHriiiiiiiiiiiniiitiiiiiiiiiriiniiHiimMHiinitinmmiiinmiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

'mniuiiiiniiniiiinniiiuMuiMiunMinMiiiiiiJininniMnninMniniiriiMiiiMiiiiiinitiiiiiiiuiiiiiiinMiiriiitniiiiniiiinMMiHiiiiiiininimiiiiiiiinniiiHiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiniinitiiiHiiiinn 

to  the  rhythm  of  the  music  and  the  sea,  while  the  numberless  lanterns 
of  every  color  and  shade  were  reflected  in  the  trembling,  dancing 
water.  Under  the  twinkling  stars  and  a  glorious  full  moon,  it  was 
a  fairy-like  scene  of  beauty  unsurpassed. 

The  next  day  (Sunday)  the  King  and  Emperor  devoted  to  the 
beautiful  pictures  in  the  churches  and  galleries.  That  night  a  gala 
performance  was  given  in  their  honor  at  the  famous  Fenice  Theater. 
The  house  was  packed  from  pit  to  dome,  but  the  Emperor  had  con- 
scientious scruples  about  going  to  the  theater  on  Sunday.  As  the 
Emperor  would  not,  the  King  could  not,  and  the  large  audience — in 
which,  thanks  to  your  good  sense,  we  were  not  included — sat  through 
a  poor  performance,  expectant  to  the  very  end. 

Monday  morning  the  HohenzoUern  with  the  Emperor  on  board 
put  out  to  sea.  The  King  returned  to  Rome  and  Venice  settled  down 
to  a  normal  condition. 

Over  the  merits  of  the  gondola  we  never  could  agree  and  my 
enthusiasm  was  quite  lost  upon  you.  The  seat  was  too  low,  the  slope 
of  the  back  uncomfortable  and  the  position  cramped.  You  did  not 
like  to  hear  the  swish  of  water  at  the  bow,  nor  the  raucous  cry  of  the 
gondolier  when  turning  a  corner,  and  when  in  time  the  unromantic 
little  steamers  with  their  shrill  whistles  appeared  on  the  Grand  Canal 
you  welcomed  them  with  pleasure.  I  declared  I  would  never  ride  in 
one  and  ended  by  finding  them  very  comfortable;  and  fortunately 
they  could  not  rob  us  of  our  many  delicious  hours  spent  in  the  narrow, 
devious  waterways,  seeing  over  the  slender,  steel,  serrated  prow  of  the 
gondola  the  gardens  of  Venice. 

We  knew  many,  and  they  were  so  pretty,  those  little  patches  of 
green,  with  a  tree  or  two,  and  flowers  blooming  in  the  midst  of 
water,  mortar  and  brick.  Our  visits  to  Venice  were  generally  in 
April,  and  we  never  failed  to  see  a  garden,  then  in  its  very  perfection. 
A  red  brick  wall  half  hidden  by  a  veil  of  purple  wisteria  and  yellow 
banksia  roses.  Peeping  over  the  top  scarlet  buds  of  pomegranate; 
the  air  scented  with  daphne  and  orange  blossoms  and  in  a  vine- 
covered  pergola  nightingales  singing  joyously. 

Standing  on  our  balcony  in  admiration  of  sky  and  water  and 
the  beautiful  church  opposite,  of  Santa  Maria  della  Salute,  there 
once  appeared  to  our  eyes,  a  picture  no  words  could  describe  and 
no  brush  portray. 

In  the  golden  light  of  a  lovely  sunset  a  large  fleet  of  fishing- 
boats  with  soft-colored  Lateen  sails  of  orange,  purple  and  red,  came 
from  the  sea  into  the  Grand  Canal.    It  was  a  radiant  vision,  almost 

Page  Two  Hundred  Three 


iitiMiiiiiiniiiiiiinHMiniiiniiirniiiMiiiniiiMiMiinMniiinEiiiuniiiniiiiniiniimiiiiiMinmiiiiniiiiiininimiinnininiHiMnMiiiiimiiiniiiiiiiinniiniiininMiniunniininwiiiiiiiiiiinn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

luiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiMiitiiMiiiiiiiniiMniiitiuiiiiintiiniHiiuniiniiinniiiiriiiiiimiuiiimiiiiiMiiiiiniiiiiiuiiniiniiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiimniiiiinniiiiMH 

unearthly  in  its  ethereal  beauty,  while  it  held  the  sunset  gleam.  That 
gone  we  saw  it  "fade  into  the  light  of  common  day."  Many  Satur- 
days thereafter,  at  the  sunset  hour,  we  watched  for  the  fishing  fleets 
return.  The  boats  came  singly  or  in  pairs  looking  very  pretty,  but 
the  exquisite  vision  of  the  fleet  entire,  we  never  saw  again. 

When  we  were  planning  to  leave  Venice  you  said,  "It  will  re- 
quire some  extra  traveling  but  like  Nadaud's  old  French  peasant,  I 
want  to  see  Carcasonne."  We  went  to  Montpelier,  a  pleasant,  old- 
fashioned  town  with  winding  streets  and  a  terrace  commanding  grand 
views  of  the  Pyrenees  and  Alps,  then  on  to  Carcasonne.  On  one  side 
of  the  river  a  well  built  town  with  boulevards  and  fountains  and 
handsome  squares.  Across  the  river  on  the  summit  of  an  isolated  hill, 
the  chief  surviving  example  of  a  walled  town  and  central  castle  with 
towers,  parapets,  and  pinnacles  and  a  Cathedral  with  lofty  spire, 
presenting  altogether  an  imposing  architectural  efl'ect. 

As  we  were  toiling  up  the  hill  we  met  a  bridal  procession  coming 
from  the  Cathedral.  The  train  of  the  bride's  sleazy  white  satin  dress 
was  spread  out  on  the  dusty  roadway  and  kept  in  place  by  two  girls 
(bridesmaids,  probably) .  Around  the  bride's  neck  a  string  of  orange 
blossoms  that  fell  to  her  feet.  There  was  a  large  party.  Two  musi- 
cians in  rusty  attire  with  shovel  hats,  a  fife  and  a  flute,  led  the  pro- 
cession;- following  the  French  custom  of  their  class  there  would  be 
dancing  after  the  wedding  breakfast. 

In  the  old  walled  city  we  found  the  streets  narrow,  irregular, 
very  dirty  and  occupied  by  a  scanty,  poverty-stricken  population. 
From  the  ramparts  we  had  a  lovely  view. 

At  lunch  we  met  an  English  couple — ^Sir  Alfred  and  Lady — 
They  were  touring  France  on  bicycles ;  bright,  intelligent  and  agree- 
able, we  thoroughly  enjoyed  our  interchange  of  opinions  and  experi- 
ence while  loitering  over  the  table.  Lady — was  tall  and  shapely,  but 
her  face  was  too  weather-beaten  for  good  looks.  Seeing  the  couple 
later,  we  were  rather  critical  over  the  extreme  abandon  of  Lady — s 
demeanor;  she  sat  on  a  narrow  porch  with — to  borrow  an  expression 
from  one  of  Jane  Austen's  novels — "crossed  jambs,"  and  being  tall, 
every  one  that  passed  brushed  against  her  far  extended  foot;  but 
smiling  and  serene,  without  changing  her  position  in  the  least  she 
smoked  her  cigarettes. 

Next  morning  we  rode  through  many  miles  of  vineyards  in  the 
Medoc  region  before  reaching  Bordeaux,  a  delightful  city  with  hand- 
some homes,  surrounded  by  splendid  boulevards,  lofty  warehouses 
and  busy  quays.     Of  the  city's  many  statues,  two  of  heroic  size 

Page  Two  Hundred  Four 


»iuiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiitMiiiiiniiitir»iiiiiHiiiiiMriiriMniinnniiiNiiimiNiiiiiiiiirimrniiiiiiiiiiiiiiinirriiiiNiiHHiiiiiiiiiiMinttinHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiniirHiiiiiiiiini 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

4iiiinminiiuniiniuiinimmnnuiuiMiiiMiMiiiiuiiMiiiMiiiiiiiiiuiniiiiiiiiiiiMimiMimuiiiiiimuiiiimiinMiiiniiuuiiiininuiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiMiimiiinnnmiiinu 

interested  us  most — Montaigne  and  Montesquieu.     We  saw  several 
triumphal  arches  of  the  Roman  period. 

We  went  into  the  establishment  of  the  great  and  well-known 
house  of  Barton  and  Guestier.  Seeing  two  strangers,  one  of  whom 
seemed  on  a  quest  for  information,  Mr.  Guestier  came  forward. 
Hearing  we  were  from  San  Francisco  he  invited  us  in  his  private 
office  where  we  spent  a  pleasant  half  hour.  Mr.  Guestier  was  greatly 
interested  in  the  wine  industry  of  California  and  asked  you  many 
questions  to  all  of  which  you  replied  so  readily  that  soon  he  said 
interrogatively,  "You  are  engaged  in  the  business."  We  all  had  a 
good  laugh  over  the  perfectly  natural  mistake. 

We  went  to  Arcachon,  famous  for  its  oyster  beds  and  pine 
woods.  On  every  street  in  the  town  at  frequent  intervals  there  were 
oyster  stands  where  the  residents  stopped  to  enjoy  the  bivalve.  Busi- 
ness men,  school  children  and  ladies,  shopping,  marketing  or  visiting. 
The  oysters  were  of  moderate  size  and  excellent  flavor,  opened  while 
you  waited  and  served  on  the  half  shell;  and  we,  strangers  in  a 
strange  land,  went  from  stand  to  stand  enjoying  the  experience.  We 
drove  to  the  pine  forest,  past  pretty  villas  inhabited  in  winter  by 
invalids  in  search  of  health-giving,  balsamic  air. 

We  went  leisurely  through  the  beautiful  chateau  region  with 
headquarters  at  Tours  at  an  Inn  kept  by  two  sisters — charming 
elderly  French  ladies,  then  to  Orleans;  admired  the  equestrian  statue 
of  Joan  of  Arc,  saw  the  house  in  which  she  lived,  also  the  perfect 
gem  of  a  building  that  housed  for  many  years  the  famous  beauty, 
Diane  de  Poitiers.  At  dinner  the  long  table  d'hote  of  our  hotel  was 
freely  supplied  with  jugs  of  tar  water — men  put  it  in  their  wine  and 
it  was  drunk  commonly  as  a  benefit  to  weak  throats  from  which  all 
the  people  seemed  to  suffer. 

The  first  of  June  found  us  in  London.  All  the  surrounding 
country,  Richmond,  Hampton  Court,  Kew  Gardens — everywhere 
flowers  and  fragrance  and  singing  birds,  and  the  great  city  of  Lon- 
don in  "the  season"  was  a  surprise  and  delight  with  parks  and  squares 
and  streets  so  full  of  stir  and  life  and  gaiety  and  beauty. 

Flower  Shows  in  Temple  Gardens;  meet  of  the  tally  ho  coaches 
in  Hyde  Park,  every  seat  on  top  occupied  by  guests,  the  ladies  in 
pretty  light-colored  dresses,  the  host  driving  his  spirited  team  of  four 
horses — inside  the  coaches,  servants  and  hampers.  One  morning  we 
counted  twenty-six  coaches,  with  horns  blowing,  winding  their  way 
under  the  park  trees  to  their  rendezvous;  and  a  very  pretty  sight 
it  was  with  thousands  of  spectators  looking  on. 

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iiiiiiii ininiiiiiiiiiininHiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitliiiniriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniitiiiiiiiiiiiii uiiriiiiiiiniiniiiiiiiniiiiiiiiniiniiut 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

:iniiiiiiiiiriiiuiiiuiiiiiHiiniHiiiHiiiiinMMiiiiriiiiinrNiiiniiniiiiMniiiinnMmiiiiiiniiiimitiiiiiMiuiniiiMiiniirHniiui;MniiiMiniiiiiininiiitniiniiniiHiiniiiMiiHniinnnMriiniuiinininn 

And  we  saw  long  lines  of  carriages  (often  blocked  for  ten 
minutes  at  a  time)  carrying  ladies  to  Buckingham  Palace  "to  be  pre- 
sented." Elegantly  attired,  their  Court  trains  spread  out  on  the 
opposite  seat,  calm  and  self-possessed  they  sat,  while  the  crowds  on 
the  sidewalk  filed  past,  making  comments  on  the  dress  and  attractions 
of  this  one,  or  that.  Standing  on  the  sidewalk  we  once  saw  several 
men  walk  along  the  roadway  deliberately  looking  into  the  carriages 
and  heard  one  say,  "Come  aways  up  here,  boys,  an'  I'll  show  you  a 
peach." 

We  never  missed  the  church  parade  in  Hyde  Park  when  Sunday 
was  pleasant  and  seldom  the  afternoon  driving  when  we  always  saw 
Alexandra,  the  lovely  Princess  of  Wales.  In  our  evening  walks  the 
carriages  leading  to  Covent  Garden  Opera  House  entertained  us — 
ladies  beautifully  gowned  and  extremely  decollete.  One  night  we 
heard  the  opera  of  Traviata  well  sung  to  a  brilliant  audience. 

We  went  up  the  Thames  by  boat  from  Kingston  to  Oxford,  a 
two  days'  trip  (twice  repeated)  that  for  charm  you  thought  could  not 
be  equalled  in  the  World.  Past  the  Towers  of  Windsor  Castle  and  the 
ruins  of  an  Abbey,  then  for  miles  and  miles  an  almost  unbroken  line 
of  villas  with  flower-decked  lawns  stretching  to  the  river  bank — 
pretty  boat  houses,  and  swans  gliding  over  the  water.  In  the  gehtly 
rolling  country,  hanging  woods,  sheep  and  cattle  grazing  in  the  hedge- 
bordered  pastures,  picturesque  villages  and  tall  church  spires  nestling 
amid  the  trees ;  thrushes,  sky-larks  and  blackbirds  singing,  and  always 
the  cheerful  intimate  river  with  its  animation  and  varied  life  that  we 
studied  at  leisure,  the  time  made  by  our  boat  being  fixed  by  law  to 
prevent  any  washing  of  the  banks. 

Picnic  parties  under  bright  marquees  on  the  sociable  islands, 
young  people  in  summer  attire  rowing  up  the  stream  or  drifting 
down  beneath  the  overhanging  branches  of  splendid  trees,  the  lively 
decks  of  numerous  gayly  decorated  house  boats,  people  walking  along 
the  banks,  people  fishing  in  the  waters. 

"What  a  river  it  is  for  life  and  animation,"  I  exclaimed,  "and 
how  the  Londoners  love  and  enjoy  it." 

"And  how  they  have  loved  and  enjoyed  it  for  centuries,"  you 
added,  and  we  talked  of  the  days  when  tilts  and  jousts  by  Knights 
in  armor  took  place  from  boats  on  the  Thames,  and  of  water 
pageants  in  which  Royal  personages  had  been  central  figures,  and 
how  each  year  a  procession  of  state  barges  escorted  the  newly  elected 
Lord  Mayor  to  Westminster  Hall  to  take  the  oath  of  office. 

The  many  locks  were  scenes  of  great  activity;  row  boats,  barges, 

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niniiiiiitiiiiiiuiniiiiiniinniiiiiiiiiniiiiMriiintHiniminiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiimniiiiiiiimiiiHiiiiiunHiiiiiiiiiniitiiiHininiiiiiiniiiinMMinii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiuniiiiiiininiiiiinuniiMiHiuiHiunjiinMiiiiiiniHiiiiiiiininiiiiiHiiniiniiiniiHmiiUMMiiiiiuiitiinniininiinMiMunmiiMintiinHiiuiuiiMiiiuiiiuninniiiuniuiniiniuiiinuiiininn 

and  launches,  public  and  private,  awaiting  their  turn,  and  passengers 
coming  and  going  from  our  little  steamer  when  we  had  reached  the 
upper  level.  The  lock-keepers'  homes  were  pretty  places ;  trim,  stone 
cottages,  gardens  full  of  roses  and  always  a  troop  of  flaxen-haired 
children  watching  the  work. 

Half  way  was  Henley,  a  very  center  for  boating  and  fishing,  and 
where  every  summer  the  celebrated  regattas  were  held,  and  at  Henley 
our  boat  tied  up  for  the  night  and  we  went  to  the  comfortable,  old 
Red  Lion  Inn.  There,  on  a  window  pane  in  the  coffee  room  we  read 
Shenstone's  lines  that  he  had  cut  in  the  glass. 

"Whoe'er  has  travelled  life's  dull  round. 
Where'er  his  stages  may  have  been, 
May  sigh  to  think  he  still  has  found, 
His  warmest  welcome  at  an  Inn." 

The  next  morning  we  continued  our  journey  through  a  succes- 
sion of  rural  scenes  that  were  a  delight  and  in  the  afternoon  reached 
Oxford  and  the  Mitre  Hotel;  of  all  old-fashioned  English  Inns  per- 
haps the  most  famous  and  richest  in  memories  of  illustrious  men. 

We  had  a  room  with  windows  looking  on  and  down  High  Street 
eloquently  described  by  Macaulay  and  Hawthorne.  It  was  a  charm- 
ing room  with  many  choice,  old  pieces  of  furniture.  One  of  the 
beds  was  mahogany  with  four  tall  posts  handsomely  carved.  To  end 
a  dispute  we  drew  lots  to  decide  who  should  occupy  it  and  when  it 
fell  to  you,  you  accused  me  of  not  playing  fair. 

Oxford,  with  groves  and  meadows,  two  rivers  and  a  background 
of  wooded  hills  would  have  been  delightful  without  those  "great 
temples  of  learning" — with  them  it  was  unique  and  on  every  visit  we 
felt  with  Hawthorne  that  "the  World  had  not  another  such  place." 

Ivy  covered  facades  and  courts  of  red  brick,  boxes  of  flowers  on 
window  ledges,  old  picturesque  gateways,  medieval  clock  towers,  halls 
and  colleges,  chapels,  pictures,  stained  glass  windows,  great  quad- 
rangles with  noble  trees,  and  over  all  an  atmosphere  of  antiquity  and 
dignity ;  a  delicious  mingling  of  the  venerable  and  beautiful. 

In  one  of  the  quadrangles  we  met  a  gentleman  and  two  ladies. 
They  all  bowed  in  such  a  pleasant,  friendly  way  that  you  stopped  and 
asked  the  gentleman  (he  was  a  Professor  of  Greek)  a  question.  He 
told  the  ladies  where  to  wait  for  him,  answered  your  question  then 
turned  and  walked  with  us;  pointed  out  where  great  men  had  been 
located  when  scholars  there,  told  us  many  interesting  things,  then 

Page  Two  Hundred  Seven 


tut rimiiitMinriiiniriiiiiiiriiMiriiiiuiiiiniiiiinnnirirnrtnitiumiwwmmiiiitmiiirnimnnitiiiimiiunrrMtiiimiiniiimiiminmHmiinnniMiiHiHiMMHiiimtiuiuniniiiiw 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

MinHniiiiiiiiinuiinuiMinniiiiiiiiHMHiiiuiMMiuiinuiiHniHiiniiiiHiuiHinit»HminuiimiiiwiuniiiiuniiiumiiiiinwiiMiriitiiuiuuniiiuinmiiiiininHiiuiiniiitiiiiiiiin 

showing  a  window  in  an  angle  overhung  with  ivy,  said,  "That  is  the 
window  of  our  haunted  room." 

"One  of  our  poets  has  written  that  'all  houses  wherein  men  have 
lived  and  died  are  haunted  houses,'  "  I  ventured. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Professor,  "I  remember,  that  was  Whittier." 

"No,  Longfellow,"  I  corrected. 

It  was  a  trifling  incident,  but  to  my  surprise  it  gave  you  pleasure 
and  you  often  referred  to  it. 

The  Sheldonian  Theater  with  rudely  carved  heads  of  warriors 
and  sages  encircling  the  auditorium,  where  degrees  are  conferred 
amid  the  hooting,  stamping  and  pert  personal  remarks  of  under- 
graduates was  an  interesting  old  structure.  We  talked  of  Holme's 
experience  when  the  University  gave  him  the  degree  of  D.  C.  L.  and 
the  undergraduates  greeted  him  with  "Here  comes  the  last  leaf  upon 
the  tree,"  and  told  him  that  "the  pruning  knife  of  time"  had  been 
hard  on  him. 

We  did  not  think  Cambridge,  that  rival  University  town  quite 
such  a  "scholastic  paradise"  as  Oxford,  but  the  noble  colleges  and 
halls  were  delightful  with  romantic  gardens  and  courts,  medieval 
gates  and  towers,  lovely  stained  glass  windows,  pictures,  and  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  the  chapels,  that  of  King's  College.  "The  Backs" 
were  charming ;  blooming  gardens  in  the  rear  of  the  Colleges,  running 
down  to  the  little  river  Cam  where  row  boats  and  many  picturesque 
bridges  led  to  equally  charming  gardens  on  the  opposite  side. 

In  Christ  College  the  window  of  the  room  Milton  occupied  was 
pointed  out  to  us,  and  we  saw  the  mulberry  tree  under  which  he  loved 
to  sit.  Poor,  old  tree !  its  trunk  is  held  together  by  hoops  of  iron  and 
every  possible  care  bestowed  upon  it. 

We  returned  to  London  just  in  time  for  the  Derby.  From  the 
top  of  a  coach  the  survey  of  that  crowded  road  was  a  sight.  Every 
freakish  thing  conceivable  was  there;  the  ludicrous,  the  grotesque, 
and  much  that  was  coarse  and  offensive.  Sometimes  one  of  the 
parallel  lines  moving  slowly  along  the  wide  roadway  would  be 
blocked,  while  the  rest  of  the  procession  went  on,  but  we  never 
changed  our  entourage.  On  our  left  we  had,  from  start  to  finish,  a 
huckster  trundling  a  half  dozen  children  in  a  push-cart,  his  wife 
walking  beside  him;  on  our  right  a  poor  little  horse  (on  which  the 
driver  sat  astride)  drawing  a  two-wheeled  cart  with  a  seat  holding 
three  men.  Every  one  of  the  four  had  a  false  nose  of  varying  size 
and  comic  shape.  "The  downs"  were  alive  with  people,  like  ants 
over  an  ant  hill  with  all  the  features  of  a  country  fair. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Eight 


iiiiiMiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiinniiii(MiiiiiiiiinrniiiiriirriniiiniiiiiiiiiinniMiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiitiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniiiiiiiniiiinitiiiiiiniiniiiniiiiiiiiiiinniiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

luinHniiiijninnMniiniiMiniiniinuniiinnininiiunHiiiinMiuninHiHiitiniHuniiniiiiiiinniiiiiinHiuinmiiiniMiiiuiiiniiiiiiMninmnninniiniiMiiiHiiMuiiHiinniiiMiHiiiiiiiN 

The  race,  contested  by  eight  horses,  was  exciting,  Lord  Rose- 
berry's  Ladas  winning.  Lord  Roseberry  was  Prime  Minister  at  the 
time  and  probably  the  most  popular  man  in  England,  and  when,  after 
the  race  was  won,  he  led  Ladas  to  the  paddock,  the  cheer  that  went 
up  from  that  multitude  of  people  must  have  touched  his  heart  and 
made  Lord  Roseberry  and  Ladas  the  proudest  man  and  horse  in  all 
the  realm. 

Royalty  and  the  smart  set  were  there  making  a  brave  show  in 
the  boxes  and  flocking  to  the  paddock  when  the  race  was  over.  We 
returned  to  London  by  train  in  a  coach  crowded  to  suffocation  by 
men  standing  in  the  passage  way. 

Later  in  the  month  we  went  to  the  Ascot  races.  The  scene  was 
brilliant  but  had  no  features  that  impressed  the  mind  as  was  the  case 
in  the  Derby. 

From  Portsmouth  we  crossed  the  channel  to  the  Isle  of  Wight 
and  had  a  delightful  coaching  trip  along  the  picturesque  shore;  past 
charming  tree-embowered  towns,  breezy  headlands,  gorse-covered 
downs  with  the  shimmering  sea  always  in  sight. 

We  left  the  coach  at  Freshwater  and  from  there  drove  to  Far- 
ringford,  long  the  home  of  Lord  Tennyson.  The  house  was  occupied 
by  the  family  but  the  old  gardener  said  we  were  free  to  walk  about 
the  grounds.  The  dear  old  man  spoke  reverently  and  affectionately 
of  Tennyson  and  told  us  where  to  find  his  favorite  haunts. 

We  went  under  a  little  bridge  (known  all  the  country  around  as 
Tennyson's  bridge)  and  came  out  upon  an  open  country.  We  walked 
through  lanes  the  Poet's  feet  had  trod,  and  looked  across  the  downs 
his  eyes  had  so  often  rested  upon,  and  standing  there,  while  you 
talked  of  the  pleasure  Tennyson's  poems  had  given  you,  we  heard  a 
cuckoo,  calling  the  "twin  notes"  loud  and  clear.  When  we  returned, 
the  gardener  gave  me  a  bunch  of  roses  from  Tennyson's  favorite 
bush,  and  you  a  bowl,  made  from  grape  leaves,  full  of  delicious 
strawberries,  of  which  the  gardener  said  Lord  Tennyson  was  very 
fond. 

We  spent  a  month  in  Carlsbad  and  on  the  third  of  August  went 
to  Bayreuth  where  we  heard  the  operas  of  Parsifal  and  Lohengrin 
with  Van  Dyck  in  the  title  roles,  and  Nordica  the  soprano. 

The  opera  house,  a  large,  plain  structure,  stood  on  rising  ground 
nearly  a  mile  from  the  town.  The  pilgrimage  to  that  Mecca  was 
something  to  remember.  In  the  fields  men  and  women  were  cutting 
grain  with  sickles,  stopping  in  their  work  to  see  the  pilgrims  pass. 

The  wedge-shaped  house  had  galleries  at  the  back,  no  boxes,  and 

Page  Two  Hundred  Nine 


MiiiiiiiinmrmniiiMiiiiiiHHniiMiniuininiinininiiiiiiHniiniuiiiiiiinuinmniiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiinniiiHiminiiuiinniiiHiiiiniiiinmiinimiuiiiiMiiiiiiiuiiminMniiiii 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

■iiniiiiniiiiiiMiiuiiiiiMiiHUiiMMiiMiinnnniniiiiiiniHiHiuiniiiiiiniuniiiiinnnMiiuMUiiiinMUMiiuiiiiNiiuiMiiiiiiNiiiiiiHinnninininiiiHiuiunniiiMiiiuuniHiiniiiiiinurnniiiiiniiiiu^ 

the  orchestra  was  partly  screened  by  a  hood.  When  the  opera  com- 
menced every  seat  not  occupied  remained  vacant  until  the  end  of  the 
act  as  there  was  no  admission  while  the  opera  was  in  progress. 

To  the  supreme  excellence  of  the  productions  no  words  of  mine 
could  do  justice.  Van  Dyck's  Parsifal  has  never  been  equalled; 
Nordica  was  at  her  best;  the  orchestra  numbered  one  hundred,  the 
chorus  two  hundred;  the  music  was  divine  and  divinely  rendered  to  a 
spell-bound  audience  in  the  vast,  darkened,  tensely-quiet  auditorium. 
The  scenery  was  beautiful  and  wonderful  from  the  moment  the 
curtain  rose,  displaying  a  glade  in  the  woods  flooded  by  rays  of  the 
rising  sun.  The  illumination  of  the  Holy  Grail  was  exquisite,  and 
when  the  castle  of  the  magician  crumbled  into  ruins,  and  the  bloom- 
ing, tropical  garden  withered  and  became  a  desert  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye  the  effect  was  that  of  magic. 

The  opera  began  at  four  o'clock  and  ended  at  ten.  There  was 
no  applause,  no  glow  of  footlights,  no  flowers ;  accessories  that  it  was 
a  strange  experience  to  have  with-held.  The  first  act  was  long  and 
during  the  intermission  that  followed,  shocking  though  it  may  sound, 
that  spell-bound  audience  went  entire  to  the  theater  restaurants  and 
ate  and  drank  the  most  substantial  things. 

Lohengrin  was  perfectly  and  delightfully  given.  At  the  end  of 
everj^  act  when  the  curtain  fell  the  applause  was  tumultuous,  but  the 
singers  did  not  appear ;  only  after  the  last  act  and  continued  applause 
was  there  any  recognition  of  the  appreciation  of  the  audience;  the 
curtain  was  then  partially  raised  for  an  instant.  Lohengrin  was  a 
rare  treat,  but  it  was  Parsifal,  always  Parsifal  that  we  thought  and 
talked  of. 

We  were  lodged  in  the  house  of  the  Burgomaster  whom  we  did 
not  see,  but  his  elderly  wife  was  charming.  We  had  our  breakfasts 
in  the  pleasant  sitting  room,  Frau  S.  presiding  at  table.  I  had  at 
that  time  a  fair  smattering  of  German  and  we  talked  constantly. 
Frau  S.  had  never  had  any  one  with  her  that  came  from  such  a  dis- 
tance as  San  Francisco;  she  plied  me  with  questions  about  the  City 
and  the  long  journey,  helping  me  out  eagerly  when  I  was  at  a  loss 
for  words.  I  enjoyed  it,  although  what  with  acting  as  interpreter  to 
you  and  puzzling  my  brain  for  words,  it  did  make  my  breakfasts  a 
secondary  consideration. 

When  we  came  in  from  a  walk  our  hostess  always  opened  the 
door,  knitting  in  hand,  because  "Gretchen  was  often  slow;"  then  we 
must  sit  down  and  tell  where  we  had  been.  Seeing  on  the  rack  of  the 
open  piano  compositions  of  Bach  and  Beethoven,  I  asked  if  she  would 

Page  Two  Hundred  Ten 


iiiiiiiii niiiiniuiuiiiniHuiiiiniiiuiiiniMiiMiniMiininnMnniuiuiiMininuiiniMiiiinnniiiiuiniiiiiitiMuiuiiiniMuimiiiiiHiiiuiiniiiunniiniiiiiiiiiiiiunniiiiiiiUHiniiiiniiiiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

amiiHuiiMiiiniiiiiinniiiuiiiiMiniinMnininiMiiiuiiHnMiuiiiiiiiMinnniniinniuiiuiMiiiiuiiiinniiiminimiiiininnniiinniiiiiuiuiiiiiuininiiinniiiininiiuuuninuuiuniininiu 

not  play  for  us.  No,  she  was  sorry,  but  since  her  fingers  were  no 
longer  nimble  she  only  played  for  her  husband.  Frau  S.  told  us  that 
she  looked  eagerly  forward  each  year  to  the  opera  season  that  she 
might  meet  pleasant  people,  for  while  she  was  happy,  life  was  very 
quiet  and  monotonous;  and  that  it  must  have  been  since  Wagner's 
house  and  grave,  and  the  graves  of  Liszt  and  Jean  Paul  Richter  were 
the  only  things  of  interest  in  the  dull  little  town  of  Bayreuth. 

Then  we  went  to  Leipsic;  that  famous,  old  University  town; 
that  literary,  musical,  book-selling,  book-publishing  center,  and  very 
delightful  we  found  it.  In  the  old  quarter  quaint  medieval  houses 
with  high-pitched  roofs,  a  beautiful  old  Rathaus,  and  in  a  beer  gar- 
den (Auerbach's  Keller)  an  old  wine  vault  with  a  series  of  curious 
mural  paintings  representing  scenes  in  the  legend  upon  which  Goethe 
founded  his  Faust. 

The  Augustusplatz  surrounded  by  magnificent  buildings  we 
thought  the  finest  square  we  had  seen  in  Europe.  We  admired  the 
great  hall  of  the  Booksellers'  Exchange  beautifully  decorated  with 
allegorical  paintings,  the  elegant  homes,  and  the  many  statues,  par- 
ticularly those  of  Luther,  Mendelssohn  and  Bach,  who  was  an  organ- 
ist in  Leipsic  for  a  long  time. 

Our  next  stop  was  Berlin  and  what  a  changed  Berlin  it  was! 
"It  looked,"  you  said,"  "as  though  all  the  millions  wrung  from 
France  in  1871  had  been  expended  on  the  now  beautiful  Capital  of 
the  German  Empire." 

Twenty  years  before  when  we  reached  Dresden,  the  wind  was 
icy  cold  and  we  drove  to  our  hotel  from  the  station  in  a  sleigh  through 
streets  musical  with  the  jingling  of  sleigh  bells;  now,  with  the  praise 
of  summer  on  our  lips  we  went  about  looking  at  pictures,  the  lovely 
views,  and  all  the  many  attractions  of  the  City. 

We  enjoyed  re-seeing  Munich,  its  art  treasures,  the  beautiful 
fountains,  and  lively,  pleasantly  shaded  streets ;  and  we  did  not  forget 
or  neglect  the  pretzels  and  music  of  the  beer  gardens. 

Then  we  went  to  beautiful  Lucerne  and  to  the  Rigi  Kulm 
where  on  our  former  visit  clouds  and  rain  had  been  our  lot.  This 
time  as  the  Alpine  horn  sounded  the  retreat,  and  the  Alpine  horn 
sounded  the  reveille,  the  sun  set  and  the  sun  rose  in  a  clear  sky. 
Both  were  glorious.  Which,  the  most  impressive  we  could  not  say; 
the  gorgeous  sky,  the  shadows  of  the  mountains,  the  lights  in 
the  valleys,  the  rosy  glow  on  the  numberless  lakes, — all  gradually 
growing  dim  and  like  an  ethereal  vision  fading  away  as  the  darkness 
fell, — or,   the  vast  panorama   emerging   from   the   shadowy   space 

Page  Two  Hundred  Eleven 


«inniiiitniininniiiriiHMMnnniiiijiiiiiriiiniiinMiirriniMiitniiiiiiimmtmitmininmiiiMiiiniiinmiiiiMfHiniiniiiiniiniiMniiiininiiiMiiiiiiHiummrimiiinin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

4iiuiinMniiiuiHinuiinnniiniiiiiuiiniMiinniitiiiinirinirnniiiniuiiiiiinuniininiiiiiiiimiiiniiiMtiitiiiiiinnniiiiiniiiiiiiiiinnnnniiiiiiiiiiiiitinMiimiiiHniHiiMnnni^ 

gradually  unfolding  into  the  brilliant,  dazzling  light  of  day.  And 
to  witness  it,  what  a  motly  crowd  assembled  in  the  gray  dawn  at  the 
sound  of  the  Alpine  horn.  Men  and  women  in  bath-robes  and 
dressing-gowns  and  wrapped  in  blankets  from  their  beds,  although 
that  performance  was  positively  forbidden  by  the  hotel  management. 
Then  we  went  to  Interlaken.  How  glad  we  were  to  see  the 
beautiful  Jungfrau  again,  and  the  valley  of  the  Lauterbrunnen  and 
all  the  lovely  waterfalls ;  and  then  to  a  small  town  from  where  a  cog- 
wheel road  carried  us  up  to  Zermatt,  that  we  might  see  the  Matter- 
horn. 

We  reached  Zermatt  in  a  blinding  snow  storm  (September  7). 
When  we  closed  our  shutters  at  night  the  snow  was  still  falling. 
When  we  opened  our  shutters  in  the  morning.  Oh,  joy!  the  sun  was 
shining  and  the  sharp  wedge  like  top  of  the  Matterhorn  stood  out 
clear  cut  against  a  sky  of  blue. 

Going  out  from  the  breakfast  room  we  saw  scores  of  donkeys  in 
front  of  the  hotel,  with  boys  in  charge,  ready  to  carry  tourists  to  a 
rocky  ridge  facing  the  mountain. 

Forewarned  was  forearmed,  and  you  engaged  two  donkeys 
stipulating  that  you  were  to  have  them  entire.  Our  patient  little 
beasts  were  saved  from  double  work,  but  we  saw  many  a  man  that 
day  pulled  up  to  the  rocky  ridge  for  a  trifling  sum  by  hiring  the  tail 
of  a  back-laden  donkey. 

The  woodland  trail  was  delightful  with  exquisite  views  of  the 
Matterhorn  as  we  followed  the  winding  of  swift  rushing  streams. 
At  Corner  Grat  5,000  feet  above  Zermatt,  in  the  midst  of  snow  peaks 
and  glaciers,  the  stupendous  mountain  was  glorious  and  majestic, 
dominating  an  awe-inspiring  scene! 

From  Zermatt  to  Martigny  then  by  carriage  to  Chamonix.  How 
we  did  enjoy  the  long  days  ride  over  that  delightful  road;  the  many, 
many  miles  between  rows  of  splendid  chestnut  trees,  or  rowan  trees — 
mountain  ash — loaded  with  clusters  of  red  berries,  both  trees  and 
berries  growing  much  larger  than  with  us ;  the  lovely  views  in  crossing 
the  Tete  Noir  summit,  and  the  long  strings  of  cows  each  with  a  tink- 
ling bell,  being  driven  down  from  mountain  pastures  by  men  and  pic- 
turesque milkmaids,  each  girl  carrying  her  milking-stool,  for  the 
summer  was  over  and  buttermaking  in  the  little  mountain  chalets 
at  an  end  for  the  year. 

On  the  hotel  terrace  at  Chamonix  guests  were  watching  through 
a  telescope  a  party  that  had  started  the  previous  day  to  make  the 
ascent  of  Mont  Blanc  and  were  then  near  the  top.    The  eye,  unaided. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Twelve 


iiHiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiniiiitnniiniiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

tuuNiiiiiinnMitiniHiiuMnniiHitiniiiuMniiniininniMiiininniillillliliiiiuiUMiiiitiiiiniiiiiiiiniMniiiiiniinniirMiiuniiinininunMMiiiiHiMiininiiinMMuniumiiniiiiiniiiiiniMiiu 

could  not  detect  them  and  through  the  telescope  what  tink  specks  they 
were!  And  did  they  really  move?  I  could  scarcely  believe  it  until 
one  by  one  the  specks  disappeared  in  a  crevasse.  After  a  long  excit- 
ing wait,  one  after  another,  the  specks  went  over  the  top  on  the 
opposite  side.  They  reached  the  summit  and  returned  the  following 
night — very  tired,  very  happy  and  the  ladies  of  the  party  very  proud. 
From  Chamonix  Mont  Blanc  was  beautiful,  massive,  formidable ! 
and  the  long,  very  narrow  Valley  of  Chamonix  hemmed  in  by  glaciers 
and  cataracts  of  ice  had  wonderful  views  of  snow-crowned  mountain 
ranges. 

We  spent  some  time  in  Geneva  and  the  delightful  towns  on  the 
shore  of  the  beautiful  Lake,  and  one  day  while  in  Geneva,  we  looked 
into  the  power-house  of  the  river  Rhone  and  saw  twenty  turbine 
wheels,  of  210  horsepower  each,  at  work.  The  effect  was  most  tre- 
mendous. 

September  20  we  went  to  Paris.  We  had  many  a  red-letter  day 
in  the  charming  environs.  At  Fontainbleu  the  golden  chasselis 
grapes  were  ripe.  The  large  fountains — the  Grandes  Eaux — were 
playing  at  Versailles.  With  all  Paris  on  November  second,  the  prin- 
cipal day  of  the  Fetes  of  Touissaint  we  went  to  the  cemeteries.  The 
tombs  were  decorated  with  natural  flowers,  the  ugly  but  bright  bead 
wreaths,  and  celluloid  flowers  so  natural,  that  we  were  often  deceived, 
particularly  in  the  roses. 

Of  the  varied  entertainment  the  City  off*ered,  it  was  perhaps 
the  Lamoureux  and  Colonne  concerts  that  we  enjoyed  most. 

On  the  material  side,  we  enjoj^ed  bouillibasse  at  a  queer,  little 
restaurant  frequented  by  Thackery  and  made  popular  with  the  Eng- 
lish and  Americans  by  his  verses,  commencing, 

"There  is  a  street  in  Paris,  famous;" 

then  at  a  triperie,  an  odd,  provincial-looking  place,  we  went  for 
"tripe  a  la  Normandie."  I  went  reluctantly — I  had  never  eaten 
tripe — ^^did  not  approve  of  it  and  knew  I  should  not  like  it. 

In  the  midst  of  our  luncheon  you  looked  at  me,  laughed,  and 
said,  "You  seem  to  be  getting  bravely  over  your  prejudice,"  and  I 
admitted  that  "tripe  a  la  Normandie"  was  a  delicacy,  particularly 
when  accompanied  by  sparkling,  delicious  Normandy  cider. 

November  23  we  reached  Nice,  where  we  took  up  the  old  familiar 
life,  meeting  all  the  American  colony  wintering  there  at  the  pleasant 
receptions  given  in  turn  by  the  Consul,  and  the  Pastor  and  Mrs.  A. 
in  the  charming  parsonage  of  the  American  Church. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Thirteen 


inniiiiiiimriiiminnnnitiirMiiiiniiHniiiiiNinirniinjiiinmniiJimiiiniMntifiiiiinnininriiinMninniiiinitrriiinttiiiriiiMtMimiintniiniiniiiiiiiiinnMnHiiiiMiHiiiMiiiniiiiiiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

'irHMmiiiiiniiiiuiiminNniniiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiirtiiiiiMiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiuimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriniiiiiiiiiiiiiiNi iiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 

The  climate  of  Nice  has  always  been  a  moot  question.  At  times 
the  mistral  blew  biting  and  cold.  One  cold  season  we  looked  from 
our  windows  in  the  morning  six  times  upon  palm  and  orange  trees 
laden  with  snow  and  saw  the  summits  of  the  high  hills  white ;  we  have 
seen  ice  on  the  basins  of  fountains  and  icicles  fringing  their  rims ;  but 
cold  seasons  were  the  exception  and  the  cold  of  short  duration. 
Oranges,  lemons  and  olives  ripened,  and  the  street  market  was  full 
of  beautiful  flowers  grown  in  the  open  air.  A  fact  that  you  said 
always  surprised  you  since  Nice  was  six  degrees  North  of  San 
Francisco. 

Drawing  conclusions  from  our  eight  winters,  we  knew  no  place 
where  week  after  week  weather  conditions  were  so  ideal  that  mere 
existence  was  a  joy;  bright  sunshine — ^but  not  burning  as  in  Southern 
California — a  delicious  breeze  and  the  bluest  of  skies. 

With  a  party  of  Americans  we  celebrated  Washington's  birth- 
day by  going  to  Grasse,  renowned  the  world  over  for  its  perfumes. 
The  ride  on  the  narrow-gauge  road  was  a  succession  of  thrills;  it 
crossed  mountain  gorges  on  slender  trestles  and  it  ran  along  the 
narrow  edge  of  viaducts. 

Grasse,  1,000  feet  above  sea  level,  built  around  with  walls  that 
reached  to  the  third  story  windows — a  damp,  unsanitary,  unhealthy 
place,  with  narrow,  crooked  streets  that  often  terminated  in  steep 
stairs — that  was  old  Grasse. 

Outside  the  city  walls,  broad  tree-shaded  streets  with  charming 
villas,  fine  hotels  and  views  of  the  shimmering  sea  a  few  miles  away. 
Among  the  softly-rolling  hills  1,200  acres  devoted  to  flower  culture 
made  a  perfumed  land. 

We  went  into  one  of  the  large  factories.  In  a  long  row,  women 
and  girls  were  pulling  violets  from  their  stems  and  throwing  them 
into  baskets.  In  the  next  process  the  lovely,  fragrant  violets  were 
thrown  into  a  huge  vat  of  boiling  oil,  and  it  was  pitiful  to  see  them 
shrink  and  wither.  In  the  next  room  orange  blossoms  were  torn  to 
pieces.  We  saw  great  basket fuls  of  the  wax-like  petals  go  into  their 
fiery  bath  for  the  manufacture  of  the  oil  of  neroli.  We  had  a  permit 
to  see  the  entire  process,  but  most  of  the  party,  including  ourselves, 
preferred  to  saunter  in  the  delightful  streets.  We  returned  to  Nice 
via  Cannes,  riding  for  fifteen  miles  through  a  valley  of  blooming 
roses  and  violets. 

On  the  22nd  of  March  we  left  Nice  for  a  short  sojourn  in  Men- 
tone  that  we  might  take  the  famous  walks  through  the  old  olive 
groves  abounding  there,  and  most  delightful  they  were.    A  hotel  near 

Page  Two  Hundred  Fourteen 


'niimtiiiiiMiiiintMiMnrinnniiniinniiiiiHininMiiiiiniNnMinniinMniiinnMiiniinHMJiriiUHiininiiiiHniiiiiMiiinriiMniirinMinirniininniMiiiiinuitininiiinintiiiiMniiMiiiiH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iMinMnnMiiiiiiiuiuiniiiMiiiiniriiin»nirninniMiHiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiHiiiiiniMiiriitinniinMnMiniiniiutMiiiiiitininiinM[niuMiinniiiiiMiniiuiiiirniinuiniiniMritiMiniiiMriiriniiHini^ 

the  railroad  station  had  been  recommended  and  I  was  left  in  the 
waiting  room  with  our  traps  while  you  went  on  a  tour  of  inspection. 

At  the  stir  made  by  several  people  coming  into  the  room  I  looked 
up  from  my  paper  to  recognize  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gladstone  with  serv- 
ants carrying  bags  and  wraps.  Soon  after,  a  kindly  act  of  Mrs. 
Gladstone  gave  me  the  opportunity  of  speaking  to  her,  which  I  did, 
calling  her  by  name.  We  had  some  pleasant  talk,  then  I  was  asked 
"Would  you  like  to  meet  Mr.  Gladstone?" 

"Very  much  indeed,"  I  answered,  "but  Mr.  Gladstone  is  reading 
and  perhaps  would  not  like  to  be  disturbed." 

"Never  you  mind  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Gladstone.  Together 
we  approached  the  "Grand  Old  Man"  and  I  was  introduced. 

"Mr.  Gladstone,  here  is  a  lady  who  lives  in  San  Francisco,  Cali- 
fornia, and  knew  us  from  pictures  she  had  seen  there." 

Mr.  Gladstone  closed  his  book  (a  copy  of  Horace)  and  men- 
tioned a  fact  we  had  often  noticed,  that  in  towns  along  the  Riviera 
it  was  a  common  thing  to  call  a  particularly  sunny,  sheltered  spot 
"Californie."  We  talked  of  the  lovely  country  in  which  we  had  all 
spent  the  winter,  then  in  answer  to  a  question  I  said  we  were  going 
from  Mentone  to  Florence.  Mr.  Gladstone  was  enthusiastic  in  his 
praise  of  Florence — it  was  sixty  years  since  his  first  visit  there — he 
regretted  that  Florence  could  not  have  remained  the  Capital  of  Italy 
which  but  for  bungling  it  would  still  be. 

The  train  was  signaled.  I  told  Mrs.  Gladstone  how  sorry  I  was 
that  my  husband  had  not  shared  with  me  the  pleasure  of  this  meeting.. 

"Bring  your  husband  to  our  compartment  in  the  train." 

"But  we  are  stopping  at  Mentone,"  said  I. 

"Yes,  I  forgot;  then  if  ever  you  are  near  Hawarden  bring  him 
there."  She  took  some  violets  that  Mr.  Gladstone  was  carrying  and 
gave  them  to  me,  and  with  a  warm,  friendly  clasping  of  hands  we 
parted. 

The  middle  of  April  found  us  in  Venice  on  our  way  to  the  Tyrol. 
Soon  as  we  left  the  plain  surrounding  Venice  the  road  to  Verona  was 
delightful ;  on  one  side  the  rushing,  singing  river  Adige ;  on  the  other, 
a  wooded  hillside,  the  ground  carpetted  by  large,  vari-colored  brilliant 
hepaticas. 

In  Verona  we  saw  the  well  preserved  Roman  amphitheater,  the 
fine  tombs  of  the  Scaligers,  Juliet's  balcony  and  Juliet's  tomb — a 
large,  white  marble  sarcophagus  filled  to  overflowing  with  visiting 
cards. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Fifteen 


niiiiiiiimiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiMiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiniiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiit iiiiiiiiinmiiitiiiimiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimitiiiiiiiiiinniiiiniiniiiinmii 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

auiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniii i iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiin 

Then  we  journeyed  on,  following  the  Adige  to  Trent,  where  we 
passed  the  night.  In  a  beautiful  valley  of  the  Tyrol,  well  built  and 
traversed  by  numerous  canals,  we  found  Trent  attractive  and  pictur- 
esque. Among  many  remarkable  buildings  the  two  that  interested 
us  most,  were  ,the  Cathedral  built  entirely  of  white  marble,  and  the 
red  marble  structure,  church  and  palace  combined,  where  the  famous 
"Council  of  Trent"  held  its  meetings  and  where  we  saw  portraits  of 
the  members  of  the  Council. 

We  went  to  Meran,  a  delightful  health  resort,  and  in  April  a 
veritable  flower  garden  in  the  midst  of  blossoming  fruit  trees;  then 
to  Botzen,  a  town  of  arcaded  streets  in  a  mountainous  region  abound- 
ing in  pleasant  walks. 

We  went  up  the  Ritten  Railway  to  Ober  Botzen  where  we  had  a 
glorious  view  of  the  picturesque,  fantastic  peaks  and  slender,  graceful 
pinnacles  of  the  "Dolomites" — ^rosy  limestone  mountains,  wonderful 
and  exquisite  in  varying  form  and  color.  We  looked  upon  the  Rosen- 
g  art  en  at  the  sunset  hour,  but  the  afterglow  was  denied  us. 

At  Innsbruck  the  surrounding  mountains  were  crowned  by 
snow,  and  the  views  beautiful.  In  the  Franciscan  Church — the 
Hofkirche — we  saw  the  magnificent  monument  of  Maximilian;  the 
Emperor  kneeling  in  praj^er,  surrounded  by  twenty-eight  bronze 
statues  of  heroic  size;  ancestors,  and  Maximilian's  favorite  heroes  of 
antiquity.  The  unique  and  beautiful  private  residence  with  lovely 
oriel  windows,  famed  as  the  Haus  of  the  Goldene  Dachi — a  roof, 
covered  by  gilded  copper  tiles,  we  admired  immensely. 

The  valley  of  the  Inn  was  beautiful  but  oh  the  things  we  saw 
in  the  pleasant  fields!  The  women,  the  poor,  peasant  women  of 
Austria  and  Southern  Germany,  how  they  did  work!  Leading  horses 
while  men  held  the  plow,  sowing  grain,  spreading  fertilizer,  breaking 
stones  to  repair  the  roads,  harrowing  the  fields,  often  with  a  team  of 
cows.  In  towns  we  saw  them  digging  trenches  for  sewers,  and  carry- 
ing mortar  and  bricks  to  the  tops  of  high  buildings  in  process  of 
construction. 

From  Innsbruck  we  went  to  Vienna.  We  found  Vienna  the  same 
bright,  sparkling  city  that  we  had  held  in  memory  for  twenty  years, 
with  the  Ringstrasse  now  a  splendid  street.  We  enjoyed  the  pictures, 
parks  and  shop  windows,  saw  a  play  at  the  Hof  theater,  the  Ester- 
hazy  wine  cellars,  and  one  lovely  afternoon  went  to  Schonbrun,  a 
favorite  summer  residence  of  the  Royal  family.  The  luxuriant  park 
surrounding  the  Palace  was  outlined  by  great  walls  of  carefully 
trimmed  foliage,  and  long  avenues  bordered  by  high  hedges  where 

Page  Two  Hundred  Sixteen 


iiitniiimiiiiiiimninHinniiiiiniiiiiiniitiiniiMiinniiniiiinMiininiiiininHiinniiiininHninniiMiiiMinniiiMmiimiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiinimiii 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iiniuirinNniMininiiniriMniMnHiinnininiiinnHniHMiiniMnnMiiiuiMiiiliiiiiiiiiiiMiniiiiiinuiuiiMuiiiiHiuniiinniiiiMiiiiiiiiiiniiiniiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniiiiininn 

birds  sang  sweetly  made  delightful  allees  to  loiter  in.  At  the  end  of 
an  avenue  was  the  Schonbrun — the  Beautiful  Fountain  that  gave 
the  place  its  name.  Marble  statues  gleamed  amid  the  shrubs  and 
trees,  and  beds  of  flowers  and  velvety  lawns  made  the  place  delightful. 

We  spent  a  day  in  Prague  and  a  day  in  Niirmburg.  The  towns 
were  quaint  and  picturesque ;  the  country  a  vast  hop  field.  Stuttgart 
was  a  blooming  garden  and  the  lilacs  were  wonderful;  we  had  never 
seen  such  variety  of  color  and  shade ;  and  what  trees  they  were !  One 
in  the  garden  of  our  Hotel  had  a  girth  of  thirty  inches  and  the  flowers 
were  far  beyond  my  reach.  At  Baden-Baden  every  man,  woman  and 
child  wore  bunches  of  lilies  of  the  valley.  We  saw  them  brought 
from  the  hills  in  large  baskets,  and  masses  of  them  in  the  markets 
lying  among  fruits,  and  vegetables  of  the  commonest  kind.  Lilies 
of  the  valley  in  contact  with  onions  and  potatoes.  It  was  desecration! 
The  Neckar  Valley  and  Bergstrasse  were  fairly  luminous  with  blos- 
soming fruit  trees,  and  all  the  country  radiant,  in  those  bright  days 
of  early  May. 

We  drank  the  very  disagreeable  waters  of  Weisbaden  as  a  kind 
of  penance  for  the  keen  delight  we  had  taken  in  the  beautiful 
country;  then  in  the  Rhine  valley  we  had  the  vineyards;  we  went 
down  the  River  to  Cologne,  to  Holland  and  to  Brock,  the  queerest, 
quaintest,  most  ridiculous  place  imaginable. 

The  little  wooden,  one-story  houses  were  red,  blue,  purple  or 
green;  the  tiles  on  the  pointed  roofs  were  in  squares  of  different 
colors;  the  front  doors  were  painted  with  flowers  and  figures  and  the 
name  of  the  owner;  the  white  embroidered  curtains  at  the  windows 
were  tied  back  with  bright  ribbons  exposing  the  rooms  to  view.  Each 
house  had  a  little  garden  enclosed  by  a  blue  picket  fence,  the  tops  of 
the  pickets  ornamented  by  wooden  toys,  apples  or  oranges;  tiny  box- 
bordered  paths  ran  through  the  gardens;  all,  had  beds  of  flowers; 
many,  little  canals  easily  stepped  across  but  bridges  were  numerous. 

Brock  was  such  a  show  place  for  visitors  and  so  many  were 
curious  to  look  inside  the  houses  that  it  was  common  for  housewives 
to  ask  the  passer-by  to  enter.  Such  a  one  standing  beside  her  open 
door  invited  us,  and  we  accepted  as  we  had  been  invited,  by  bowing 
and  smiling.  She  left  her  wooden  shoes  at  the  door  and  we  followed 
in  the  house.  A  microscopic  eye  could  not  have  found  a  speck  of 
dust.  Glassware,  china,  furniture,  woodwork  and  cooking  utensils 
outside  as  well  as  inside — everything  shone  like  a  polished  mirror.  All 
the  beds  were  in  recesses  in  the  walls  closed  in  by  doors  like  a  cup- 
board. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Seventeen 


niiiiirniMriiiMiiiir nn»niiiiiiininrnrinMiiHiiiiiiniiitiiiiniiiiriiiiiirniiiiiiiiiitmrniiiiiirriiiiniiiitiiiiiniiiiittniiitiniinniiiiinniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniininiiMiiiiinirmiiH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

wiiiiiiiiniiiHiiHinMiiiiniiiiiiintMNiiiiiMniiniiiiiriiiiiiriiiinMiirttniiiHiitiniiiiiiinnittiimHiiiiiiiniiiiiMirininiinnirnniiiiiiniiniitiiiiiiniiiHiiiininiiruiiinMiniiiiiiM 

Then  we  inspected  a  house  combining  cheese  room  and  stable. 
The  cheese  maker  asked  us  to  please  wipe  our  feet  on  the  mat  at  the 
stable  door.  The  floor  was  paved  with  bricks  of  many  colors,  and  a 
generous  stream  of  water  ran  through  the  place.  The  windows  had 
fresh  white  curtains,  and  the  ledges,  boxes  of  flowers.  The  black 
cows  with  snow-white  spots  showed  plainly  the  washing  and  combing 
and  brushing  they  got.  Behind  the  wide  stall  of  every  cow  a  loop 
hung  from  the  ceiling  to  which  the  tail  was  attached  when  milking 
time  came. 

Not  far  from  Brock  was  Volendem  swarming  with  artists,  and 
no  wonder,  for  the  women  were  far  and  away  the  most  picturesque 
we  had  seen  in  Holland.  In  addition  to  their  unusual  dress  everj' 
woman,  young  and  old  wore  a  gold,  silver  or  copper  band  resting  on 
the  forehead  and  encircling  the  head;  another  band  of  the  same  metal 
went  over  the  top  of  the  head  terminating  at  the  temples,  and  from 
the  ends  very  long  earrings  dangled  over  the  ears  and  cheeks.  The 
pretty  lace  cap  with  frill  that  fell  over  the  back  of  the  neck  carefully 
exposed  the  earrings  and  band  to  which  they  were  attached. 

As  at  Brock  crowds  of  villagers  followed  us  about,  curious,  as 
we  were,  and  a  boy  about  sixteen  kept  asking  if  we  were  going  to 
Edam.  In  time  we  understood  that  he  wanted  to  take  us  there.  He 
had  a  little  sail  boat  that  we  looked  at.  The  distance  was  short  and  as 
I  was  always  eager  for  a  new  experience  you  were  persuaded  to 
engage  him  and  we  embarked. 

That  young  Dutchman  worked  like  a  Trojan.  His  trousers 
immensely  wide  at  the  hips  and  tied  in  just  below  the  knees,  heavy 
blue  woolen  stockings  and  wooden  shoes,  jumping  back  and  forth  on 
that  little  boat  was  a  picture  that  made  us  laugh  and  laugh  until  we 
could  laugh  no  more, — moving  the  sail  to  catch  the  light  breeze, 
steering  the  boat,  smoking  his  pipe  and  digging  a  long  pole  into  the 
sides  of  the  canal  to  push  his  craft  along, — he  carried  us  to  Edam  in 
a  way  that  we  would  have  been  sorry  to  miss. 

All  the  dairies  in  the  vicinity  made  the  little  round,  red  cheese 
and  Edam  was  the  shipping  port. 

The  little  boats  with  their  chocolate-colored  sails  so  captivated 
me  that  at  my  request  we  returned  to  Amsterdam  via  Volendem  this 
time  engaging  a  boat  in  charge  of  a  man.  The  breeze  had  died  away 
completely  and  the  boat  was  drawn  the  entire  distance  by  the  man 
who,  fortunately,  was  large  and  strong. 

While  at  breakfast  next  morning  you  said  "If  you  want  to  go  to 
Marken  we  better  go  today  and  get  all  this  picturesque  business  you^ 

Page  Two  Hundred  Eighteen 


,1 iiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiinintiiiiiiiiiiiiiriitiitiiiiriiiiiriiriiiniiiiiiniiiii iiiitiiiinii iiiitiiiiiNitiiiitiiiniimiirititiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiniitiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiimintmimiiin iiimiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiiiiiniiiniiinHHiniiHnMiiiiiniitiiiiininiiinHiininiriiiiiiiiiMHiiuiiiminiiiiiuiiniiiniiiNntiinniiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiniiiitiiMiiiiiiiniiiiniiMniiiiiiiinniniiiunni^ 

fancy  so  much  off  our  hands,"  so  to  Marken,  the  largest  of  the  islands 
in  the  Zuyder-Zee  we  went, — inhabited  by  fisher  folk,  much  visited  by 
tourists  and  full  of  artists  making  sketches  of  the  women  and  girls, 
all  dressed  alike.  A  f  risette  of  golden  hair  and  two  long  golden  curls 
falling  over  each  cheek ;  a  snow  white  cap  turned  away  at  the  ears  and 
standing  out  from  the  head  in  a  point ;  a  much  embroidered  red  waist 
with  white  sleeves;  a  woolen  petticoat  striped  with  several  colors,  the 
stripes  running  around,  and  wooden  shoes.  A  very  fetching  costume 
when  the  girls  were  young  and  pretty. 

We  went  to  Delft,  full  of  delightful,  high,  old,  red  brick  houses, 
standing  flush  on  canals  lined  by  two  rows  of  fine  trees.  In  a  church 
with  a  lofty  tower  and  a  lovely  chime  of  bells,  we  saw  the  magnificent 
monument  of  William  the  Silent,  and  in  shop  windows  the  beautiful 
faience  pottery  made  in  Delft. 

In  Haarlem  we  chanced  to  see  a  very  pretty  noon  wedding  at 
the  Cathedral,  and  later  had  two  hours  of  delightful  music  on  the 
famous  organ.  The  season  was  late  June  and  the  country  about 
Haarlem  was  a  vast  flower  bed  of  tulips  and  hyacinths  miles  and 
miles  in  extent. 

From  the  Hague  over  a  road  shaded  by  trees  and  dotted  with 
two  miles  of  villas  and  gardens  we  went  to  Scheveningen,  a  fashion- 
able seaside  resort,  and  an  old  fishing  village.  At  one  end  of  the 
town  pretty  houses  of  bright  color  rented  for  the  season  by  well- 
groomed  people  who  enjoyed  surf  fishing;  sat  for  hours  in  the  wicker 
chairs  with  a  hoodlike  covering  that  served  as  protection  from  sun 
and  wind  (hundreds  of  which  were  scattered  over  the  beach)  and 
through  the  evenings  danced  at  the  casino  or  listened  to  a  good  band 
concert. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  town  shabby  little  homes  black  with  age. 
Most  of  the  men  were  away  at  the  herring  fisheries,  only  the  elderly 
being  left;  their  catch  of  fish  was  carried  in  baskets  on  the  heads  of 
women  to  the  Hague  markets,  and  what  pictures  they  made  on  the 
road  in  their  odd  dress!  full,  short,  white  woolen  skirts  standing  out 
as  though  worn  over  barrels  tied  to  the  waist,  black  stockings  and 
wooden  shoes.  On  their  heads  white  caps  and  a  kind  of  brass  helmet, 
that  helped  perhaps  to  sustain  the  weight  *they  carried. 

We  should  have  enjoyed  dining  at  one  of  the  attractive  restau- 
rants in  the  part  of  town  devoted  to  pleasure  but  we  resisted  the 
temptation  remembering  notices  in  the  halls  and  rooms  of  the  ex- 
tremely comfortable,  extremely  expensive  "Vieux  Doelan"  that  read, 
"Guests  of  the  hotel  will  be  charged  for  dinner  whether  present  or 
absent." 

Page  Two  Hundred  Nineteen 


juiiiiiMiiininiiiuHininniniiniiiuiiiiiiinniiMiMiinunrHniiinniiilimiiliiltllimiMiiiiiiinuiiiuiiinniiininninniiiiiiHiniiiinniHiiniiiiiiiniMniiininniininii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

aiuniiniuiniinuuiniHiiMiinuniniiiinuiiiainnnniniuniiniiiuiiiiiuniiiiHiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiuininmiininnniiuiiiininnnuiiHiiiiiiniMUinniuiiuHniniuiim 

From  the  Hague  we  went  to  Rotterdam.  We  had  taken  great 
pleasure  in  seeing  again  the  beautiful  pictures  of  the  old  Dutch 
Masters,  had  enjoyed  the  picturesque  dress  of  the  people  and  laughed 
at  the  absurdity  seen  in  the  towns  on  Sunday  when  women  of  the 
substantial  middle  class  go  to  church  wearing  a  hat  trimmed  with 
flowers,  feathers  or  ribbon  perched  on  top  of  a  white  cap. 

We  went  from  Rotterdam  down  the  river  Maas  to  the  "Hook  of 
Holland"  and  so  to  London.  We  spent  several  days  driving  through 
the  lovely  country  embracing  Chatsworth  and  Haddon  Hall  with 
headquarters  at  the  delightful  old  Peacock  Inn. 

En  route  to  Liverpool  we  stopped  at  the  quaint,  medieval  town 
of  Chester,  to  see  the  interesting  old  walls  perfect  in  their  entire  cir- 
cumference of  two  miles.  We  walked  in  the  continuous  galleries, 
over  and  under  which  the  houses  lining  the  street  project, — all  ap- 
proached by  flights  of  steps  and  called  "the  Rows." 

In  July,  1895,  we  crossed  the  ocean  on  the  Cunard  liner  Lucania 
and  went  to  our  Central  New  York  home,  running  away  in  Septem- 
ber for  a  leisurely  trip  through  the  Berkshire  hills.  At  Great  Bar- 
rington  we  stopped  at  the  Berkshire  Inn.  Directly  opposite  was  the 
"Searles  Mansion" — the  show  place  of  all  the  country  around — 
hidden  from  view  by  trees  set  closely  together  and  a  tall,  thick  hedge. 

You  asked  our  host  what  the  chances  were  of  our  being  able  to 
see  the  "Searles  Mansion." 

"None  whatever,  I  fear,"  he  answered;  "A  limited  number  of 
visitors  are  admitted  two  days  in  the  week  and  there  is  a  long  waiting 
list." 

Next  morning  you  sent  your  visiting  card  with  the  address  "San 
Francisco,  California."  Talismanic  words!  that  brought  a  very  nice 
note  from  Mr.  Searles.  Much  to  his  regret  he  was  leaving  for  New 
York  to  keep  a  business  engagement  but  had  given  instructions  that 
we  were  to  be  shown  over  the  place  at  any  time  convenient  to  us. 

A  gentleman  (engaged  in  cataloguing  books)  was  our  guide. 
The  Mansion  was  indeed  a  mansion.  Everything  that  great  wealth 
and  perfect  taste  could  achieve  in  decoration  and  furnishing  was 
there.  We  were  given  the  unusual  privilege  of  entering  the  bedroom 
and  boudoir  of  Mrs.  Hopkins- Searles,  that  remained  just  as  she  had 
occupied  them.  Elegant  and  luxurious,  with  a  charming  view  from 
the  windows  of  a  wide  stretch  of  meadow,  a  tree-fringed  stream  and 
a  background  of  lovely  wooded  hills. 

We  spent  several  days  delightfully  in  Boston  and  went  to 
Concord;  looked  with  interest  on  the  old  houses  built  before  the 

Page  Two  Hundred  Twenty 


MiMmiiiMiintiiiiinritiMHiiiitniinnminiiiiiiiiiniriiuuriuiiniiiiiiiimirtmiiiiiiiimiiiiimiininuiiiitiuiiimiHmiiMinMiniinmtrinMiiiinititiiniiniiHiMiiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

riiiiiiinjiMnininniniiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiMiiiiMinninniHiiinMiniiiiinninMimiiiiiiniinniiiiiiiiMnuiiinmiuimiiiiiuMiiniiiiiiiintnniniiiiniiiiHnniinniintiniiMHiiHiinin 

Revolution,  drove  out  to  Hawthorne's  "Old  Manse,"  saw  on  the  river 
bank  the  statue  of  the  "Minute  Man"  erected  where 

"The  embattl'd  farmers  stood 
And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world," 

and  in  Sleepy  Hollow  Cemetery  saw  the  graves  of  Emerson,  Haw- 
thorne, Louisa  Alcott  and  Thoreau. 

We  wintered  in  the  West  and  summered  in  the  East  until  Sep- 
tember 6,  1900,  when  we  sailed  on  the  Grosser  Kurfurst  for  Bremen. 
We  enjoyed  the  quaint,  old  city  and  lunched  at  the  famous  Rath- 
skeller where  we  had  a  small  bottle  of  old  Johannisberger  wine  that 
you  pronounced  "fine." 

Between  Bremen  and  Hamburg  we  saw  herds  of  Holstein  cows 
being  milked  in  the  pastures  by  women  and  girls,  old  women  with 
yokes  carrying  the  pails  of  milk  to  farm  houses,  often  far  distant. 

The  next  morning  when  a  coach  drawn  by  four  horses  dashed  up 
to  the  door  of  the  Hamburgher  Hof  we  climbed  on  top  and  had  a 
delightful  ride.  In  the  very  heart  of  the  City,  the  river  Alster,  on  its 
way  to  join  the  Elbe,  widens  out  into  two  basins — the  inner,  and  the 
outer.  These  basins  lie  close  together  and  between  them  the  river  is 
spanned  by  a  bridge.  Around  the  small,  inner  basin  are  shops,  res- 
taurants and  the  principal  hotels ;  around  the  outer  basins  many  of  the 
most  charming  homes  in  Hamburg  with  flower  gardens,  lawns  and 
fine  trees.  Upon  the  basins,  row  boats,  sail  boats,  steamboats  and 
barges  of  traffic  ply  in  every  direction,  while  adding  greatly  to  the 
charm  are  the  numerous  swans  gliding  about ; — in  the  busy  waters  of 
the  basins  and  on  the  quiet  reaches  of  the  river. 

As  w^e  bowled  along  enjoying  the  well  built,  animated  streets 
and  the  animated  water  and  admiring  the  swans,  you  told  me  how 
well  you  remembered  the  first  swans  you  ever  saw; — ^that  on  your 
fifth  birthday  your  Father  had  taken  you  to  Central  Park  to  see  the 
swans,  just  arrived  from  the  City  of  Hamburg,  as  a  gift  to  the  City 
of  New  York ; — that  looking  at  them  from  the  margin  of  a  lake  your 
Father  said,  "How  graceful  they  are,  and  what  a  graceful  act  the 
sending  of  them  was."  That  the  swans  were  graceful  you  could 
understand,  but  your  Father  had  to  explain  what  he  meant  by  saying 
the  act  of  sending  them  was  graceful. 

That  night  at  the  Stadt  Theater  we  heard  Wagner's  Die 
Walkiirie  well  sung,  paying  for  our  good  parquet  seats  six  marks 
each. 

When  we  returned  to  our  room  we  found  splintered  glass  around 

Page  Two  Hundred  Twenty-one 


•iniiiuiuniiiniiiiiriHiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiniMiiniiiiiiiiMniiiininniimimimiiiHmiiiininiiHiiiiiiiiiniMinimniniuiiiiiiiiinMnniiiiiuiiiiiiiiiniiniHiiiinHHnunininniiniiiNnimn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiniuiniiiiuiiiniinniiniiiiiiiiiiniiiniiniinniinuuninnHniiiniiiniiiiMiiiiiiiiiUHHiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiuiminiiuiiiniiniinininiiiiiniiiiiiiiminHiii^ 

the  wash  stand  and  missed  a  tumbler.  In  the  morning  a  housemaid 
was  standing  outside  our  door  crying. 

She  tried  to  tell  me  how  she  had  broken  the  glass  and  said  she 
must  pay  for  it.  I  told  her  we  would  pay  for  the  glass,  whereupon 
she  smiled  through  her  tears,  kissed  my  hand,  saying,  "ach  gnadige 
frau"  and  more,  that  the  kind  lady  did  not  understand. 

We  stopped  in  the  office  and  you  said  to  the  clerk,  "There  has 
been  a  glass  broken  in  our  room  that  you  may  charge  to  me." 

The  clerk,  "I  have  already  charged  you  for  it." 

"But  you  understand  we  did  not  break  the  glass." 

"Certainly,  but  I  knew  you  would  not  want  the  maid  to  pay 
for  it." 

As  we  walked  to  the  breakfast  room  you  said  "And  these  people 
talk  of  Americans  thinking  only  of  the  almighty  dollar." 

At  the  end  of  three  days'  stay  an  item  on  the  bill  read, 

"Ein  glas  gebrochen  60  pfennigs."  (twelve  cents) . 

We  rode  through  immense  tracts  of  sugar  beets  in  Saxony  and 
at  Weimar,  where  we  staid  two  days,  reached  a  lovely  wooded  coun- 
try— the  Thuringen  Wald.  We  saw  the  house  where  Goethe  was 
born,  his  statue  with  that  of  Schiller,  walked  through  the  park  and 
rested  in  the  Gartenhaus  where  Goethe  passed  so  many  hours  in 
writing  and  meditation.  We  stopped  over  at  Jena  to  see  Schiller's 
house  and  the  pretty  town  associated  with  him. 

The  softly-rolling  wooded  hills  were  full  of  pretty,  interesting 
groups — old  women  and  children  having  in  charge  a  cow,  a  few  goats 
or  a  little  flock  of  geese. 

At  Munich  we  heard  Tanhauser  beautifully  sung  at  the  opera 
house.    The  prices  were  low.    The  opera  commenced  at  half -past  six. 

September  22  we  went  to  Oberammergau  to  see  the  Passion 
Play.  A  four  hours'  journey  through  a  pleasant  country.  Wayside 
shrines  became  frequent  as  we  neared  our  destination ;  a  quaint,  peace- 
ful village  on  a  plain,  beside  the  swiftly  flowing  Ammer,  surrounded 
by  green  fields,  wooded  heights,  and  mountain  peaks,  with  a  lofty, 
shining  cross  on  the  highest  rocky  summit. 

The  visitors  brought  by  the  long  train  were  met  at  the  station  by 
citizens  and  conducted  to  the  houses  allotted  them.  A  dear  little  boy 
who  seemed  to  know  by  instinct  where  we  belonged  asked  if  we  were 

going  to  Mr. 's.    We  had  secured  our  room  from  Cook's  Tourist 

Agency  and  wondered  how  we  were  to  fare. 

A  pleasant  woman  met  us  at  the  door.     We  followed  her  up 

Page  Two  Hundred  Twenty-two 


•iminmiinniniiniiniuininnniiiJiiiiHiMnninuinniiiuiMniiuHiiiMiiiiiiiiimnimiiiiiiiiiinninMiiiiiinimniiiiimnniiiMniiuiniiniiiiinrniiiiiiiiniiinMuniiuiiiMiMiiiiii^         iiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

niiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit 

stairs  to  a  large  corner  room  with  prettily  curtained  windows.  Every- 
thing was  neat  and  attractive;  the  furniture  plain  but  comfortable, 
the  bed  linen  and  towels  beautifully  embroidered  with  initials.  While 
we  were  still  surveying  the  room  our  hostess  came  with  tickets  of  ad- 
mission and  numbered  seats  for  the  Theater  next  day.  She  gave  us  a 
light  lunch  and  we  went  out. 

The  narrow,  winding  streets  were  roughly  paved  and  without 
sidewalks.  The  outer  walls  of  the  houses  were  of  delicately  colored 
stucco  and  many  were  painted  with  historical  or  religious  pictures; 
unless  the  roofs  were  very  sloping,  large,  flat  stones  that  defied  the 
winter  winds  rested  upon  them.  In  shops,  in  windows  of  houses,  in 
gardens  and  lining  the  streets  were  wooden  images  carved  by  the 
peasants  illustrating  religious  subjects,  the  crucifixion  being  most 
common. 

From  the  town  we  wandered  over  fields  bright  with  meadow 
saffron,  then  followed  the  wagon  road  to  the  open  country.  From  all 
directions  peasants  were  coming  from  their  mountain  homes,  some 
making  a  pilgrimage  of  fully  fifty  miles;  men  and  women  plainly 
clothed;  young  men  and  maidens  in  picturesque  costume  and  many, 
young  and  old,  that  carried  in  the  hand  or  thrown  over  the  shoulders 
a  little  bundle  containing  their  shoes  and  stockings  which  they  put  on 
as  they  neared  the  village. 

As  we  entered  the  house  upon  our  return,  we  saw,  framed  in  the 
open  doorway  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall,  the  head  of  a  cow;  we 
walked  through  the  hall  and  found  ourselves  in  the  stable  with  six 
cows  just  driven  in  from  the  mountain  pasture. 

During  the  afternoon  train  after  train  had  poured  into  the  little 
station  its  tide  of  humanity  and  when  we  walked  out  in  the  evening 
thousands  of  people  from  all  parts  of  the  World  were  threading  their 
way  through  the  crooked  streets.  We  soon  tired  of  the  pushing  and 
jostling  and  went  back.  I  suggested  that  we  take  another  look  at 
the  cows.  A  lantern  hung  from  the  ceiling.  In  the  dim  light,  in 
addition  to  the  cows  we  saw  a  dozen  men  and  boys  lying  on  a  fragrant 
bed  of  hay  that  had  been  thrown  from  the  loft ;  all  sound  asleep. 

At  four  o'clock  the  following  morning  there  was  a  musical  ring- 
ing of  church  bells  and  at  sunrise  the  firing  of  a  cannon  echoed 
through  the  mountains.  The  Theater  was  on  the  edge  of  the  town, 
and  when,  soon  after  seven  we  made  our  way  towards  it,  a  cosmo- 
politan crowd  was  going  in  the  same  direction. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning  and  the  bright  sunshine  lighted  up 
every  picturesque  thing  it  touched;  the  dress  of  peasants,  the  fez  of 

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uniitMiiinirnriiitiiniiiniinniiiiiiiiniiuiiiiinniiiiniitninniiMMnntiiniiiiniiiiminiiiiiMiniinniiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiMMiiuHiiniiinnniniiminninmniiiiniitHiiiitiiini^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iimimiiiiniiniiiiiiiiiiiiiniMinniiHiriiHniiiiiiMiniiiunnniiimiiiiimiiimiiiiimiimiMiiiiiiiiiniininiiniiniuiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiinMiiiiiiniMiniiiiMiirnmi^^^ 

Turks  and  the  striking  vestment  of  French,  Italian  and  Russian 
priests. 

The  great  structure  with  4,000  seats  was  covered  and  closed  on 
three  sides.  Just  beyond  the  open  end  was  the  immense  stage,  the 
blue  sky  above  it,  green  fields  beside  it,  cedar-clothed  hills  and  rocky 
mountain  summits  back  of  it. 

The  play  began  promptly  at  eight  o'clock  and  continued  without 
a  break  until  twelve.  After  an  hours  intermission,  the  Play  began 
again  at  one  and  ended  at  five.  A  prologue,  tableaux  and  chorus 
preceded  each  of  the  sixteen  acts.  The  tableaux  were  scenes  from 
Old  Testament  stories  foreshadowing  later  events.  Grouping  and 
coloring  made  the  living  pictures  extremely  beautiful.  The  chorus 
in  white,  with  mantles  of  delicate  color  was  accompanied  by  an  excel- 
lent orchestra  hidden  from  sight.  The  music  composed  by  the  village 
school  teacher,  chorister  and  organist  combined,  was  dignified  and 
harmonious. 

The  Drama,  from  beginning  to  end,  was  without  flaw  and  defied 
all  criticism,  act  after  act  moving  along  with  stately  dignity.  The 
mastery  of  every  detail  shown  by  the  Passion  Play  Committee  com- 
prising the  burgomaster,  the  parish  priest,  the  schoolteacher  and  a  few 
burghers  chosen  by  the  people  was  simply  marvelous. 

The  High  Priest  Caiaphas,  Pilate  and  Herod  were  all  mag- 
nificently attired  and  the  scenes  in  which  they  were  the  central  figures 
were  brilliant  and  intensely  dramatic.  They  and  the  Disciples,  the 
Priests,  Rabbis,  Pharisees  and  Elders  spoke  in  turn  with  an  emotional 
fire  and  fervor  that  at  times  was  positively  thrilling.  The  hundreds 
and  hundreds  of  people  before  the  audience  in  every  scene  added 
much  to  realism,  and  from  the  entry  into  Jerusalem  when  five  hun- 
dred men,  women  and  children  came  down  the  hillsides  and  crossed 
the  plain  waving  palm  branches  and  shouting  hosannas,  until  the  final 
scene  on  Calvary,  it  was  not  a  play  being  acted,  but  a  tragedy  lived 
before  us. 

Canon  Farrar  wrote  after  seeing  the  Passion  Play  "The  im- 
personification  of  Christ  was  something  much  higher  and  more  sacred 
than  acting;  it  was  the  transference  into  a  living  picture  of  what  the 
gospel  tells  us.  The  Play  does  not  offend  by  a  single  word  or  a 
single  gesture." 

There  was  some  tender,  beautiful  music  by  the  chorus,  robed  in 
black;  a  tableau  of  the  Ascension,  and  the  Passion  Play  for  that  day 
was  over.  From  the  sonorous,  finely-rendered  lines  of  the  first  pro- 
logue, to  the  last  fall  of  the  curtain,  the  tragic  story  of  the  centuries 

Page  Two  Hundred  Twenty-four 


niiiimiiiiiirir iiiiiiiuiiiiirnniiiiiMimiiMniiinininirultuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiitiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiniiitiiiii miiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiminii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiiniuiiiiiiiniiiiniininMiinuiiiiiiiiiiniiiiininiiniiHiMiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiminiiiiiiiiniiiiriniuiiiimiiiMiiiiiiinnniiniiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiHinini^^ 

was  impressive  beyond  description;  marvelous  in  its  realism  and  full 
of  dignity,  reverence  and  deep  spirituality. 

The  acting  was  perfectly  natural  and  perfectly  wonderful;  it 
must  surely  have  been  inborn,  since  all  children,  generation  after 
generation,  grew  up  imbued  with  love  for  the  Play  and  wished  with 
all  their  little  hearts  for  nothing  so  much  as  to  be  participants  in  it; 
and  so  it  was  that  those  men  and  women,  few  if  any  of  whom  had 
ever  been  in  a  theater  or  seen  a  real  play,  rose  naturally  to  great 
dramatic  heights;  those  men  leading  their  simple,  blameless  lives  in 
the  little  hamlet  among  the  Bavarian  hills;  carpenters,  potters, 
masons,  wood  carvers,  road  makers,  tillers  of  the  soil  and  herdsmen; 
women  busy  with  their  looms  and  household  work;  and  giving  every 
ten  years  a  Drama  with  such  fervor  and  overmastering  power  that 
day  after  day  they  held  thousands  upon  thousands  spellbound. 

We  had  been  so  impressed  by  the  beauty  and  power  of  the  Play 
that  we  wanted  to  see  it  again.  It  was  to  be  repeated  the  following 
day  for  the  thousands  that  had  been  unable  to  get  beds  or  seats.  Our 
good  hostess  said  she  would  sit  up  all  night  if  by  so  doing  she  could 
give  us  a  place  to  sleep ;  we  tried  a  dozen  houses  without  success,  then 
took  an  evening  train  and  returned  to  Munich. 

We  spent  most  of  October  in  Paris  enjoying  the  Exposition. 
Of  all  those  happy,  busy  days  the  one  that  I  enjoyed  most  was  the 
day  we  went  up  1,400  feet  in  a  captive  balloon.  It  was  a  delightful 
sensation,  and  experience  well  worth  having  when  the  marvelous 
possibilities  of  aviation  were  unknown.  I  wanted  to  take  a  flight 
every  day  but  you  said  the  tariff  was  too  high,  and  also  carried  a 
considerable  tax  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor,  as  many  a  concession  did. 

Four  months  in  Nice,  then  from  Naples  on  S.  S.  Republic  we 
steamed  one  April  day  into  the  semi-circular  Palermo  Bay,  at  the  foot 
of  the  lofty,  rugged  mass  of  Monte  Pellegrino. 

The  harbor  was  alive  with  sailing  craft,  from  Trans-Atlantic 
liners  to  row-boats  of  quaint  and  curious  shape  painted  in  all  the 
colors  of  the  rainbow.  From  the  boatmen  surrounding  us  came  a 
very  Babel  of  noise — hotel-runners  and  shouts  of  welcome  for  friends 
on  our  forward  deck  who  shouted  back  in  ear-splitting  tones.  What 
throats  those  people  have! 

From  the  noise  and  color  of  the  harbor  we  drove  to  the  Hotel  de 
France  through  animated,  delightful  streets.  White  houses  with 
green  Venetian  blinds,  balconies  and  red-tiled  roofs,  blooming  gar- 
dens and  glimpses  of  domes  and  spires  through  rich  vegetation. 

The  gay,  little,  two-wheeled  Sicilian  carts  were  irresistible.    On 

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(iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii nil iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiittiiimiiiimmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin i iiiii tiiiiiiiiniiimiiiiiiiintiniiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiimmiiiiiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiMiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiinniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiinini^  iiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiii 

a  yellow  background  the  panels  of  the  body  were  crowded  with 
figures  in  lurid  colors,  representing  every  imaginable  subject;  re- 
ligious, historic  and  comic.  The  shafts,  wheels  and  body  were 
adorned  with  scroll-work  and  on  the  axle  a  small,  carved  statue  of  the 
owner's  patron  saint. 

The  carts  were  drawn  by  the  smallest  of  donkeys,  the  harness 
strung  with  jingling  bells,  bright  with  red  tassels,  bits  of  tinsel  and 
little  square  pieces  of  looking  glass,  and  tied  to  the  headstall  between 
the  ears  a  tall  cock's  feather.  The  donkeys  were  driven  without  bits, 
like  the  ponies  in  Naples,  being  guided  by  an  iron  ring  around  the 
nose,  with  reins  attached  to  the  sides.  The  little  carts  were  common 
carriers,  and  loaded  with  lemons  or  oranges  were  a  pretty  sight. 

Business  over,  men,  women  and  children,  as  many  as  the  cart 
could  hold,  were  off  for  pleasure,  and  the  poor,  little  donkey's  hardest 
work  and  greatest  abuse  had  just  begun,  for  the  gay,  lighthearted 
Sicilians  were  cruel  to  their  animals. 

The  large  markets  were  full  of  interest.  Fruit  and  vegetables 
hung  in  festoons  of  riotous  color,  lemons  and  oranges,  radishes,  blood- 
red  tomatoes  and  cauliflowers  every  shade  of  purple. 

Over  beds  of  charcoal,  fish,  flesh  and  fowl  were  sizzling  in  sepa- 
rate pots  of  boiling  oil  and  huge  cauldrons  were  steaming  with  veg- 
etables. All  Palermo  seemed  to  buy  at  least  part  of  its  food  ready 
cooked  and  the  scenes  around  the  stands  of  the  cuisine  economice  were 
very  animated. 

Palermo  was  a  city  of  gardens,  public  and  private.  At  the  latter 
there  was  always  a  custodian,  often  in  livery,  and  whenever  we 
stopped  to  look  within  we  were  told  that  the  forestieri  were  permitted 
to  enter.  The  gardens  were  beautiful  and  Calif ornians  though  we 
were,  the  flowers  made  us  exclaim  in  wonder  and  delight.  Roses, 
particularly  those  of  sulphur  hue  were  really  gorgeous.  We  never 
forgot  a  Marechal  Niel  vine,  led  back  and  forth  from  branch  to 
branch  of  two  trees,  and  the  overhead  canopy  made  from  hundreds 
of  large  roses  that  seemed  to  have  gathered  the  very  escence  of 
sunshine.  In  the  public  garden  we  saw  fine  specimens  of  banyan 
trees,  and  most  interesting  they  were. 

The  Via  Maquada  at  the  fashionable  driving  hour  was  one  of  the 
sights  of  Palermo.  Slowly  moving  vehicles  of  every  description, 
occupied  by  people  of  every  class;  Ducal  carriages  following  shabby 
hacks  along  the  handsome  street.  We  spent  two  hours  one  afternoon 
on  the  course  that  we  might  see  the  ladies  of  Palermo's  fashionable 
world.     Many  were  beautiful;  all  were  beautifully  gowned.     More 

Page  Two  Hundred  Twenty-six 


iiiiiiitinninnmniriiiiiiniiiinMiiiiniiiiinunninHininiiiiininiiiininiiiiiiiiiiumiiiiiuiiiiniiniiiiMiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinuiiiiniiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiniiuiiiiniiiin^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OFMANY 

riiuMiiiiiiMiiiMiinniiniiiniiUNinniiiiniinnuHniHiiuiiinininiuiiiiiiniiiiuiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiininniniiinriniuniiniiiiiiitiHiiniiiimiiiiiuitniuiiimimiiiniiiiin 

to  our  liking,  however,  were  the  trips  we  made  by  trolley-ear  to  the 
outskirts,  where  lovely  villas  fringed  the  city,  and  farther  on,  to 
orchards  where  lemons  were  being  picked, — such  beautiful  lemons 
with  thin,  velvety  skins;  and  grapefruit  trees  of  wonderful  size,  with 
great  clusters  of  fruit  encircled  by  glossy  leaves  and  large,  snowy 
blossoms. 

Wandering  about  the  streets  we  saw  many  thingi^  that  enter- 
tained us.  A  group  of  public  letter  writers  at  work;  loud-voiced 
water  carriers  with  clinking  glasses;  little  shrines  let  into  the  walls 
of  houses,  with  flowers  on  them  by  day  and  at  night  a  row  of  burning 
candles  or  small  oil  lamps;  a  black  cloth  nailed  across  a  window  as  a 
sign  of  mourning;  white  lettering  on  the  strip  of  cloth  told  what 
member  the  family  had  lost;  a  few  goats,  each  with  a  tinkling  bell, 
driven  along  the  sidewalk  and  milked  whenever  a  customer  appeared. 

And  what  a  sight  all  Palermo  was  on  washing  day, — clothes 
stretched  across  narrow  streets,  and  hanging  from  window  ledges  and 
spacious  balconies  of  handsome  houses  in  broad  fashionable  streets; 
every  article  of  clothing  worn  by  the  human  kind. 

Just  around  the  corner  from  our  hotel  was  the  Marina,  a  center 
for  clubs,  shops  and  cafes,  where  we  enjoyed  the  life  of  the  street  and 
the  outlook  over  the  water. 

The  great  Cathedral  was  beautiful  and  dignified,  the  facades 
varied  and  picturesque,  with  turrets,  towers  and  battlemented  roof 
outlined  against  the  blue  SiciHan  sky.  In  the  impressive  interior 
among  a  wealth  of  decoration  the  splendid  treasured  tombs  of  Roger, 
that  great  Norman,  First  King  of  Sicily  and  his  family.  The  raised 
canopies  with  twisted  columns,  and  the  sarcophagi  were  of  rich, 
crimson  porphyry.  Each  sarcophagus  rested  on  the  shoulders  of  six 
kneeling  Norman  nobles, — the  figures  carved  in  white  marble. 

On  Sunday  morning  we  strolled  into  the  court-yard  before  the 
Cathedral.  We  heard  the  chanting  of  Mass  within  and  walked  back 
and  forth,  along  the  wide  beds  of  flowers  on  either  side,  that  per- 
fumed the  soft,  warm  air.  As  we  were  going  away,  we  noticed  at  the 
church  door  a  lovely  child,  quite  alone,  dressed  in  white  from  his 
broad-brimmed  hat  to  the  small  shppered  feet.  Long-fringed, 
lustrous  eyes  lit  up  the  face  of  a  cherub.  In  answer  to  questions 
we  learned  that  madre  was  in  the  chiesa  and  that — spreading  wide 
the  fingers  of  one  hand,  the  better  to  make  us  understand,  he  was 
cinque  years  of  age. 

While  we  were  looking  at  him  with  admiration,  an  Officer  in  full 
uniform  ran  up  the  steps  and  entered  the  Cathedral,  throwing  down 

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•niiiiiiiiininitniiiiiriiiniiiiiiiiiiiniuiiiiiiiiiiiMMiMiniiiiniinriiiiHiniiuiiiiiiimtmiiiHUiiiiiiiniMniiimiiHiniiiiiimiiiiiniiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiunn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

oiutiitiiiiinnniiniitiiriiiiiniiniinniiiuiiiiiiiiiniuiiiHmmiiiiniiniiiiniiMuuiiuiiiiiiiiniiiininiinmiiiniiiiiniiuiiiiimiiiniiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiniiH^^^ 

a  half-smoked,  lighted  cigarette  upon  which  our  lovely  cherub  darted 
like  a  bird  of  prey,  picked  it  up,  put  in  between  his  rosy  lips  and  be- 
gan to  smoke.  When  it  was  nearly  consumed  he  opened  a  chubby 
hand,  took  another  from  fully  a  dozen  half -smoked  cigarettes  and 
lighted  it  like  a  veteran.  He  was  enjoying  himself  immensely  when 
a  handsome,  dignified  woman  came  from  the  church.  At  a  glance 
she  took  in  the  situation — smiled  and  bowed  to  us,  and  with  a  depreca- 
tory shake  of  the  head,  threw  the  cigarette  in  the  street,  scolded  the 
culprit  and  led  him  away.  As  he  passed  us  he  opened  the  disengaged 
hand,  to  show  what  he  had  left,  and  with  a  roguish  smile  hid  his 
treasures  in  a  handy  little  pocket.  We  watched  the  small  figure  until 
he  vanished  from  view,  then  took  his  place  as  a  lovely  vignette  on  the 
wall  of  memory. 

We  went  to  Monreale,  four  miles  away,  to  see  the  Cathedral.  A 
plain  exterior  with  massive  towers;  on  two  sides  beautifully  chiseled 
bronze  doors.  Inside,  the  lower  walls  of  white  marble, — ^the  upper 
walls  encrusted  with  mosaics  over  an  area — according  to  Baedecker — 
of  70,400  square  feet.  Old  Testament  mosaic  tableaux  on  a  golden 
ground  in  soft  and  lovely  tints, — many  of  the  pictures  startling  in 
their  realism  and  the  incidents  depicted,  but  surpassingly  beautiful 
in  general  effect;  a  gorgeous,  glittering  blaze  of  exquisite  and  har- 
monious color.  The  cloisters  were  cheerful  and  beautiful.  Adjoining 
them  a  delicious  garden  of  orange  and  lemon  trees,  beds  of  flowers 
and  a  fountain. 

On  a  glorious  morning  we  left  "the  White  City"  regretfully. 
You  had  secured  the  berlina  that  we  might  have  an  unobstructed  view 
of  "II  Conca  d'  Oro,"  the  golden  shell  that  half  surrounds  Palermo. 
A  vast  plain  with  miles  and  miles  of  lemon  trees.  The  fruit  hung 
ripe  and  yellow  and  the  air  was  heavy  with  the  perfume  of  blossoms. 
The  land  was  irrigated  by  water  held  in  large  wooden  casks  sunk  in 
the  ground.  The  rims  were  fringed  with  ferns  and  wild  geranium; 
the  water  reflected  the  trees  overhead  and  the  effect  was  very  pretty. 

As  we  neared  the  sea,  we  passed  the  Vale  of  Enna  where  Proser- 
pine was  gathering  wild  flowers  when  Pluto,  charmed  by  her  beauty, 
carried  her  away  to  be  the  Queen  of  his  dark  realm. 

In  Palermo  we  had  chosen  the  San  Domenico  (an  old  convent) 
as  the  place  to  stay  at  Taormina.  When  we  reached  Giardini  you 
confidently  gave  the  porter  of  that  hotel  your  name,  and  said  you 
had  written  for  accommodations.  He  was  very  sorry  but  the  hotel 
was  full  up  when  the  letter  came.  Our  second  choice  was  the  Timeo 
— that  too  was  full.    We  tried  the  Castel-a-Mare — not  a  room.     A 

Page  Two  Hundred  Twenty-eight 


.irfniiniiriiunminHniniiiMinitiiinrMMinirniHiniiinMniininininMiiintniniininiiiwitiiiinniiiniiiiiiiiiiiiimiiniinninnniiiitiiniiniuniHiiiniiiiiiniiiMintninmiiniiiiiHitin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiHiiiniiiiitiuniMiiniiiniiiiHiiiiMniiiiiiiiMnMiiiiiinniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiimiiiniinniuiiiiiniiniHHtHiiiHiiiiniiiniiniiiiiniiniiiininniwiiinii^ 

porter  came  to  say  The  Metropole  could  give  us  a  small  room,  which 
we  declined.  The  Metropole!  when  we  had  set  our  hearts  on  one  of 
those  delightful  hotels  with  romantic-sounding  names  of  which  we 
had  read  and  heard  so  much!  No,  indeed!  so  we  got  into  the  rickety 
vehicle  sent  from  a  Sicilian  hotel  on  the  village  street  where  we  were 
promised  a  large  room  and  fine  view. 

We  soon  forgot  our  annoyance  in  the  views  that  unfolded  at 
every  turn  of  the  white,  zig-zag  road  up  the  steep  mountain  side  that 
led  to  Taormina  700  feet  above  the  sea.  Terraced  villas  clinging  to 
the  ground  like  nests  of  birds,  surrounded  by  ilex,  cypress,  lemon 
and  orange  trees;  past  the  delightful  hotels  that  in  day-dreams  had 
been  our  own;  farther  and  ever  farther  below,  shone  the  curving 
shore  of  the  blue  Ionian  sea;  above  the  fleecy  clouds,  the  glittering, 
silver  cone  of  Mt.  Etna,  clear-cut  against  the  azure  sky;  the  crumb- 
ling red  walls  of  the  Greek  Theater  perched  high  upon  a  mound; 
then  Taormina,  the  Sicilian  Hotel  and  a  very  small  room  looking  on 
the  street. 

"The  fine  view  must  be  at  the  back,"  said  I,  turning  from  the 
window.    "I  do  hope  we  shall  find  a  terrace." 

Instead  of  a  terrace  we  found  a  high,  blank  wall. 

"Now  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  I  exclaimed,  staring  angrily 
at  the  wall.    "That  rascal  of  a  porter!" 

"And  you  really  expected  a  'large  room  and  a  fine  view' — ^your 
credulity  is  refreshing,  and  also  surprising." 

The  Greek  Theater  facing  Mt.  Etna,  the  immense  proportions, 
the  crumbling,  broken  proscenium  arches,  the  re-erected  Corinthian 
columns,  the  fragments  of  marble,  and  empty  niches  where  statues 
had  stood  were  all  very  impressive.  The  vast  auditorium,  with  rows 
of  seats  faintly  defined,  was  beautiful,  under  a  carpet  of  soft  moss 
bearing  the  tiniest  of  pink  flowers. 

Artists  were  there  vainly  trying  to  transfer  a  bit  of  the  glorious 
panorama  and  matchless  color  to  canvas ;  the  exquisite  blue  of  the  sky, 
the  shifting  shades  of  turquoise  in  the  shimmering  sea;  the  hillsides 
clothed  in  varying  green  of  palm  and  cypress,  orange  and  olive,  and 
dominating  all,  Mt.  Etna  "The  Pillar  of  Heaven."  Around  the 
majestic  form  fleecy  clouds  always  at  play,  in  turn  concealing  and 
revealing  what  in  part  they  hid,  with  an  efl'ect  that  was  the  delight 
and  despair  of  the  artist.  Above  the  clouds,  against  the  azure  sky, 
little  whiff's  of  white  smoke  curling  and  wreathing  from  the  snow- 
wrapped  crater  where  Ceres  lit  her  flaming  torch;  while  in  the  inner- 
most recesses  beneath,  Vulcan  hammered  at  his  forge. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Twenty-nine 


;iiiiiniiiiiinimiinituiiiiiinniiiiiitiitiiiiiiiitiinmiiiinHiiininiHiniiiiiiiHiriinniiitiimiiiiiiiiiiiniMiiiniiniiHiniitiiiiiiiMniniiniiiiiininnnininiimiiiiniii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

aiiHiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiutiniiiiiiiiniiiiiiiininHHUiiinitniiiiniiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuriniiiiiiiiiiiininininiiiiiiiiiiiiii^ 

In  the  one  long,  winding  street — where  we  were  located  and  very 
comfortable  (although  I  did  not  forgive  the  porter)  we  saw  much 
to  interest  us.  The  people  lived  and  worked  out  of  doors.  Women 
mended  clothes,  combed  their  hair,  cooked  the  dinners  and  cared  for 
the  babies.  Cobblers  and  tinkers  patched  and  soldered.  Goats  and 
kids  roamed  at  large.  Boys  shouted  and  played.  Little  girls  with 
Madonna-like  faces,  their  hair  knotted  and  pinned  on  the  top  of  their 
heads,  sat  in  the  doorways  beside  mother  or  grandmother  learning 
to  sew  or  knit,  to  make  lace  or  drawn  work. 

At  the  picturesque  old  fountain  crowned  by  a  mythological 
deity,  women  and  girls  gathered  to  talk  and  laugh  and  going  away 
carried  jars  and  jugs  and  slender  Greek-looking  pitchers  filled  with 
water  on  their  well-poised  heads.  Sometimes  we  followed  little  lanes 
running  along  the  hillside  where  broken-down  stairways  and  ruined 
arches  were  almost  hidden  by  heather  and  broom  and  wild  geranium. 

One  afternoon  we  went  down  a  steep,  stony  path  to  the  San 
Domenico  Hotel  and  had  tea  on  the  flower-scented  terrace,  beside 
the  garden  blooming  with  roses,  violets  and  fresias;  and  one  of  the 
old  convent  walls  was  covered  with  a  pink-flowered  climbing  cactus 
that  was  a  delight.  We  saw  the  shrines  and  altars  and  frescoes,  and 
looking  on  the  glorious,  enchanting  view  in  its  setting  of  exquisite 
color,  we  joined  in  the  verdict  of  all  who  have  seen  it,  that  Taormina 
is  one  of  the  loveliest  spots  on  earth!  from  which,  after  four  happy 
and  delightful  days,  we  tore  ourselves  away  and  went  to  Messina. 

A  busy,  prosperous,  commercial  city;  wide,  handsome  streets 
adorned  with  statues  and  fountains,  a  fine,  old  Cathedral,  parks  and 
pleasure  grounds.  La  Marina,  an  esplanade  following  the  crescent- 
shaped  Messina  Bay,  splendidly  built,  with  shops,  hotels,  club-houses 
and  p\iblic  buildings  was  a  most  delightful  place;  the  sidewalk 
thronged  with  people  of  leisure,  natives  and  strangers,  while  across 
the  street  red-sashed  fishermen  were  bustling  about,  porters  with  red 
vests  were  loading  and  unloading  the  closely-moored  vessels,  and 
skimming  over  the  sparkling  water  hundreds  of  white  sails  gleamed 
in  the  brilliant  sunshine. 

We  stopped  at  the  Messina  Hotel,  a  commercial  house  fre- 
quented by  bankers,  merchants  and  club-men  and  had  the  opportunity 
of  seeing  Sicilian  gentlemen  eat  spaghetti.  It  was  served  as  a 
separate  course  on  large  plates.  The  fork  was  used  to  connect  the 
spaghetti  with  the  mouth,  then  laid  aside.  Heads  were  lowered  low 
over  the  plates  and  when  the  heads  were  raised  the  plates  were  empty 
and  the  spaghetti  gone.  A  clever  piece  of  lingual  work,  but  how 
managed  was  a  mystery. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Thirty 


imniiiiiniriiiuiiiiiiiiinitiiiiiiHiMinMiiiiiiiriniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiitiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuMiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiniiiiMiniiiuiiiHiiiiiiHiiiiiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiniiiiiiniirniniiniiinHiiiriiiiininniininiiiuuiiiiiiniiiiiiiiniiiniiiiininiiimiiiiniiiiiiimiMiniiiiiinniiiniiniinmiiniiiniinuijnininiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiniuiiin 

In  the  evening  we  heard  an  excellent  band  concert  in  the  Piazza 
di  Municipo  and  the  following  day  steamed  away  from  "one  of  the 
finest  harbors  in  the  world,"  Messina's  domes  and  spires  and  shining 
white  buildings  looking  beautiful  against  the  background  of  dark 
mountains. 

A  few  years  later  came  the  terrible  earthquake  that  destroyed  the 
city  and  buried  half  the  population  beneath  the  ruins. 

In  the  rough,  choppy  waters  of  the  Messina  Straits  we  passed 
between  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  those  fabled  monsters  of  Hellenic 
legends,  and  went  on  our  way  to  Naples,  I  lamenting  that  we  had 
not  seen  the  Temples  at  Girgenti  and  Segesta. 

"Why  want  to  see  everything?"  you  asked.  "We  have  seen  the 
Temples  of  Paestum.     There  are  none  finer  in  Sicily." 

May  25,  1902,  we  sailed  from  Boulogne  on  S.  S.  Moltke  for 
New  York.  We  had  one  entire  summer  and  part  of  another  in  the 
dear  old  home,  some  happy  months  with  relatives  in  the  City,  a 
delightful  winter  in  San  Francisco  at  the  Palace  Hotel,  and  August 
6,  1903,  on  the  same  good,  old  S.  S.  Moltke  sailed  from  New  York 
for  Hamburg. 

With  the  coming  of  large  steamers  my  dread  of  the  sea  had 
vanished  and  I  shared  with  you  the  pleasure  of  voyaging  back  and 
forth.  Now  and  then  we  had  a  day  of  rain  or  a  rough  sea,  but 
generally  we  were  very  fortunate  in  weather  and  the  time  passed  all 
too  quickly.  Beginning  with  the  early  dawn  and  the  sailors'  chorus 
as  they  holystoned  the  decks — counting  the  hours  by  the  ship's  bells 
—eating  six  times  a  day,  yet  always  ready  to  respond  to  the  sound 
of  the  gong  or  bugle  call — books,  but  very  little  reading — walking 
and  talking — playing  rope  quoits,  shufflle-board  and  bridge. 

We  always  met  pleasant  people;  many  that  we  were  sorry  ta 
part  from  when  the  short  voyage  was  over.  j 

On  one  of  our  crossings  this  way  we  met  a  lady  and  gentleman, 
both  of  whom  a  few  years  later  became  prominent. 

Mr.  Thomas  Lipton's  deck  chair  was  next  to  mine,  and  he  was 
also  our  table  companion.  A  most  agreeable,  interesting  and  enter- 
taining man,  talking  freely  of  the  struggles  and  poverty  of  his  early 
life;  of  his  Mother,  and  of  his  success;  not  boastfully  but  in  a  simple, 
natural  way,  telling  of  his  varied  industries,  from  meat  packing  in 
Chicago,  to  his  tea  plantations  in  Ceylon.  He  was  also  gifted  with 
the  Irish  brightness  and  told  many  amusing  stories  connected  with 
his  career. 

In  crossing,  we  always  chose  in  the  dining  saloon  one  of  the 

Page  Two  Hundred  Thirty-one 


tiniuuiinimiMiHiininiininiiMiniuiniiiniMrniiiiniiiiiiinniniiiiminimniiniiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniiiiiiimmiimiiniiniiiiHiiiiimnniiiiiniiiiiiiitnn 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiniiniiiimmiiniiiiiiiiiHiiNHiiiiiiinMiinMiiinnniMrNniinniniininiiiiimiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiniiitiniiiiiimHiMiinniininnMiiiniiiiiiniiiiiiiiniininMiiniinitinniiniiiiHiHiiM 

short  tables  on  the  ship's  side  that  accommodated  only  ten  or  twelve. 
Opposite  us  sat  Mrs.  Vanderbilt,  her  daughter  Consuelo  on  her 
right,  her  young  son  Harold  on  her  left.  Our  seats  were  against  the 
wall  and  we  could  only  be  served  by  the  steward  passing  things  across 
the  table,  and  the  way  that  charming  girl  was  constantly  on  the  alert 
to  help  those  of  us  so  placed  was  something  pleasant  to  remember. 
Miss  V.  was  extremely  pretty — tall  and  graceful — sociable  and 
human,  joining  in  a  shy,  modest  way  in  the  pleasant,  lively  talk  of 
the  table. 

About  the  third  day  of  the  voyage,  sitting  on  deck  after  lun- 
cheon, Mr.  Lipton  said  to  me — 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  why  Mrs.  Vanderbilt  never  speaks 
to  you  or  Mrs.  W." 

[Mrs.  W.  was  an  attractive,  agreeable  young  woman,  who  with 
her  husband,  was  homeward  bound — they,  with  two  well-known 
business  men  of  San  Francisco  made  up  the  complement  of  our 
table.] 

"You  will  have  to  give  me  something  easier  than  that,  Mr. 
Lipton,  if  you  expect  an  answer  to  your  question,"  said  I. 

Then  he  appealed  to  you,  saying  it  was  so  strange,  and  he  could 
not  understand  it,  finishing  his  remarks  with  "and  you  have  no 
aristocracy  in  America." 

"We  have  an  aristocracy  of  wealth,"  you  told  him  "that  is  some- 
times very  arrogant." 

It  was  a  question  that  puzzled  this  kind-hearted,  good-natured 
son  of  Erin  all  the  way  over;  and  surely  the  conduct  of  Mrs.  V. 
could  not  pass  unnoticed.  She  never  raised  her  eyes  from  the  table, 
and  worse  than  that,  if  her  daughter  was  taking  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion, listening  or  perhaps  saying  something  herself,  the  mother  hurry- 
ing through  all  her  meals,  would  rise,  put  her  hand  on  her  daughter's 
shoulder,  and  with  an  "Excuse  me,  please,"  that  lovely  girl  would 
turn  from  the  table  and  follow  her  mother.  A  bit  of  ship  gossip — I 
give  it  for  what  it  is  worth — was  that  Mrs.  V.  was  very  indignant  at 
not  being  put  at  the  Captain's  table.  That  may  have  caused  her  to 
see  the  World,  for  the  time  through  jaundiced  eyes. 

A  few  years  later  in  the  busy  shopping  streets  of  Naples  we  met 
Sir  Thomas  Lipton — knighted  for  his  generous  contributions  in  pro- 
viding food  for  the  poor  of  London  during  a  hard,  cold  winter.  His 
yacht,  the  Shamrock,  had  just  been  defeated  for  the  second  time,  but 
he  was  not  discouraged.  His  parting  words  were,  "Good-by — I  shall 
lift  that  cup  yet,  believe  me." 

Page  Two  Hundred  Thirty-two 


iniirMiiininniHniMiitiiiiiiiniiiiniHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiniiiiMiinmniiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiMiniiiiiiniiiiiiMMtiiinniniiinitniiiMniiiiuiiiniiiiiHniiiiniininiiinMU 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

«iinii[iiiMninnnniiiiniuMiiNnruiiHiiiriniiiMiiiiiniiniiiiMnniiiniriiniiiMiHninininiiniiiiiinniininiiiiiiiiiniHiniiniiinitiiininiuiiiinHMuiiMniniitinininiiiiininiuiniuiniiiin 

Consuelo  Vanderbilt  was  a  Duchess,  and  a  great  favorite  with 
Royalty.  Later,  when  domestic  troubles  came,  we  felt  sincerely 
sorry,  but  sure  that  the  lovely  Duchess  was  not  at  fault. 

Only  once  in  our  many  crossings  was  the  even,  pleasant  tenor  of 
our  days  disturbed.  A  young  man  in  the  steerage  died  and  was 
buried  at  sea.  We  went  with  a  number  of  passengers  to  the  stern. 
The  burial  service  was  read,  and  the  steamer  slowed  down  when  the 
body  was  committed  to  the  deep.  Looking  back  we  saw  the  long 
box  that  had  not  been  sufficiently  weighted,  tossing  on  the  crest  of  the 
waves.  For  a  long  time  I  could  not  put  from  my  mind  or  my  mind's 
eye,  that  wooden  object  following  in  the  wake  of  our  ship,  as  though 
in  pursuit. 

To  resume  our  journey,  from  Hamburg  we  went  to  Kiel.  The 
canal  was  full  of  shipping  and  very  animated,  the  Emperor's  yacht, 
the  Hohenzollern,  riding  gracefully  at  anchor.  From  Kiel  by  steamer 
to  Korsor  then  to  Copenhagen  through  a  pleasant  country  of  tawny- 
colored  grain  being  harvested,  tracts  of  vivid  green  of  sugar  beets, 
and  fields  of  red  clover  where  long  rows  of  cows  were  tethered.  When 
milking  time  came  picturesque  milkmaids  appeared,  each  followed  by 
a  large  Danish  hound  and  cart  that  took  the  milk  to  the  farm  house 
where  it  was  turned  into  the  excellent  butter  that  is  a  source  of  great 
wealth  to  Denmark. 

The  narrow,  winding,  lively  shopping  street  of  Copenhagen  was 
full  of  interest.  The  windows  we  enjoyed  most  displayed  pottery 
from  the  Royal  Porcelain  Factory,  embroideries,  and  rich-looking  fur 
garments;  the  jackets  we  thought  the  prettiest  were  in  color  soft 
gray  flecked  with  white,  which  upon  inquiry  we  found  were  not  fur, 
but  made  from  the  skins  of  cormorants  captured  in  Greenland.  They 
were  warm  and  durable  with  the  advantage  of  being  light  in  weight. 

The  open  air  market  was  held  in  a  large  square;  adjoining  it,  on 
the  quay,  the  fish  market;  the  fish  all  kept  in  tanks.  The  long  row 
of  old  fish  women  looked  grotesque  wearing  large,  black  straw  poke 
bonnets  to  which  full  white  capes  were  attached. 

We  walked  across  a  large  park  to  the  home  of  Mr.  Carl  Jacob- 
sen  who  has  given  to  the  Nation  his  wonderful  collection  of  Etruscan, 
Egyptian,  Greek  and  Roman  antiquities.  His  collection  of  Roman 
portrait-statues  and  busts  is  claimed  to  be  the  finest  and  largest  in 
the  world.  In  the  Thorwaldsen  Museum  we  saw  a  complete  collec- 
tion of  that  sculptor's  work — originals  or  replicas. 

The  great  pleasure  resort  that  took  the  name  of  the  old  Roman 
town  of  waterfalls,  temples,  gardens  and  villas ;  and  has  in  turn  given 

Page  Two  Hundred  Thirty-three 


iiinMnniiiiMiMiiiiniiiimnHiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiNitinnMniiiiiiiiiiiiiuimiiiiiininmiiimiiiiiininnuiiiiitiHiniiiiiniiiiiiiitiiinminiinnnHHitiiiiinMn^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

uiiiiniiiiinniiininiiinuMMinMUiiiiiinnnniiMiniiiiiiiiiNiiiHuiHiniiiiiiriniiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiniiiuiiniMiiiiininiininiiiiiiiniuimiiuiniiniiiiiHimiiMMiiiiii^ 

the  name  to  theaters,  concert-halls  and  public  gardens  the  World 
over:  the  Copenhagen  Tivoli,  a  large  park  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
city  with  groves  of  trees,  lakes,  fountains,  waterfalls  and  parterres 
of  flowers,  furnishing  every  kind  of  entertainment  and  amusement 
we  found  a  most  delightful  place  at  all  hours. 

In  the  morning  men  sat  under  the  trees  reading  their  papers; 
women  knitting  or  embroidering;  young  people  were  boating  on  the 
lakes  and  children  playing  games.  Towards  evening  when  the 
twilight  of  the  North  lingers  so  delightfully,  family  groups,  parents 
and  children  had  supper  at  tables  under  the  trees.  Whether  prawns 
and  white  wine;  frankfurters,  cheese  and  beer,  or  bread  and  milk, 
everywhere  cheerf ulnes,  talk  and  laughter. 

There  were  open  air  theaters,  and  a  beautiful  concert  hall  where 
we  heard  a  noble  orchestra  render  classical  compositions,  when  the 
Tivoli  with  numberless  colored  lights  looked  like  fairyland. 

Leaving  Copenhagen  for  Elsinore  the  roacj  skirts  the  picturesque 
Zealand  Coast  where  the  Royal  family  and  the  wealthy  residents  of 
Copenhagen  have  delightful  summer  homes.  At  Elsinore  on  the 
Straits  of  the  Kattegat  stands  the  massive  Castle  of  Kronborg,  that 
Shakespeare  calls  the  Castle  of  Elsinore  where,  on  the  platform 
before  it,  Hamlet  sees  his  father's  ghost. 

Our  train  was  carried  across  the  Straits  to  Helsingborg  on  a 
steamboat  with  three  decks.  The  lower  one  had  cabins  and  refresh- 
ments; the  middle  deck  carried  our  cars,  and  the  upper  deck  served 
as  a  ferry  between  the  two  towns. 

Our  mid-day  dinner  at  a  Swedish  station  restaurant  on  our  way 
to  Gotenborg  was  a  novel  experience.  A  long  table  crowded  with 
steaming  dishes;  soup,  fish,  meats,  vegetables  and  sweets;  piles  of 
plates  and  heaps  of  knives,  forks  and  spoons.  There  were  no  waiters. 
We  made  a  rush  with  our  fellow  travelers,  filled  our  plates,  carried 
them  to  a  small  side  table  and  enjoyed  an  excellent  dinner  at  a  very 
moderate  price. 

From  Gotenborg  we  went  up  the  valley  of  the  Gota  through 
beautiful  forests  of  beech  and  birch  to  the  Trolhatten  Falls.  The 
entire  height  of  the  six  falls  and  rapids  is  only  108  feet  but  the 
enormous  volume  of  water  forced  through  the  narrow  gorge  makes 
the  spectacle  grand  and  imposing.  The  hillsides  were  covered  with 
pink  heather,  forming  a  lovely  setting  for  the  Falls. 

From  Trolhatten  to  Christiania,  an  attractive  city  with  charming 
homes,  fine  public  buildings  (many  of  a  reddish  granite)  delightful 
pictures  by  Norwegian  artists  in  the  Museum  of  Art,   tempting 

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itiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiMHiiiiiiiiimiiiniiiiiniiimiiiiinimiiiiiiiuiiuiminHniiniiiiniimniniiiiiinMiimrtiHiniiiiiiiiiiiiinii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

jiiiMMnHniiiiitiiiMiiimMiiiriinnninuiiMnMniininniiinHHiiniimiiiiiiiimHiiiiiitHiiiiiiiiniHiiiiniiiiiiiiiiuiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiuiiiMiitiniitiiiMiiininiinuiiiiin 

articles  of  filigree  work  in  gold  and  enamel  in  shop  windows,  and  in 
the  Stor-torv — great  market — a  large  variety  of  fish  and  game, 
flowers  and  fruit;  berries  were  particularly  plentiful  and  of  many 
kinds. 

In  a  charming  novel  of  Beatrice  Harraden,  the  scene  of  which 
was  laid  in  Norway,  we  had  read  of  the  cloud  berry,  much  esteemed 
by  the  natives,  that  would  not  grow  or  thrive  under  cultivation. 
Seeing  a  tray  of  large,  raspberry-shaped  berries,  orange  red  in  color, 
we  were  pleased  to  hear  they  were  cloud  berries.  They  had  a 
delicious  flavor,  all  their  own,  and  the  marketman,  who  spoke  English 
bore  out  Miss  Harraden's  statement;  they  were  wild  and  unsociable, 
loving  inaccessible  places  in  the  hills,  resented  transplanting  and 
every  kind  of  care,  but  bore  freely  when  left  alone. 

The  most  interesting  object  in  Christiania  was  the  Viking  ship 
dating  from  the  ninth  century.  The  mound  covering  it  was  only 
100  miles  from  the  city  yet  it  was  not  excavated  until  the  year  1880 
revealing  a  ship  larger  and  in  a  better  state  of  preservation  than  any 
previously  found.  The  vessel,  75  feet  long  and  15  feet  wide,  was 
built  for  both  sailing  and  rowing,  having  a  mast  amidship  and  16 
rowlocks  on  each  side.  In  ages  past  robbers  had  plundered  the 
sepulchral  chamber;  only  fragments  of  costly  weapons  and  trinkets, 
and  bits  of  silk  embroidered  in  gold  thread  remained. 

On  a  lovely  morning,  by  an  electric  railway  running  through 
forests  of  pine,  spruce  and  birch  we  were  carried  well  up  the  Hol- 
menkollen  mountain,  then  climbing  a  steep  path  we  reached  the  View 
Tower. 

A  striking  young  woman  with  a  handsome  Danish  hound  beside 
her  was  looking  over  the  country.  She  was  hatless  and  gloveless, 
dressed  in  white,  of  heroic  size,  with  abundant  light-brown  hair,  clear 
blue  ej'^es  and  firm  white  teeth.    You  asked  if  she  spoke  English. 

"A  leetle,"  she  answered  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

The  view  from  the  tower  was  extended  and  beautiful.  Through 
trees,  in  the  city  beneath,  we  saw  the  domes,  church  spires  and  tiled 
roofs  of  homes  glistening  in  the  sun.  Our  companion  located  for  us 
the  Storthing,  or  Parliament  House  and  diff*erent  public  buildings. 
Seaward  was  the  harbor,  the  shipping  and  Christiania  fjord  fifty 
miles  in  length  with  rocky,  wooded,  sinuous  banks. 

We  had  seen  extended  views  from  three  sides  of  the  tower;  on 
the  fourth  side  the  outlook  was  hemmed  in  by  the  green  domes  of 
hills.  There  were  several  houses  on  the  mountain  side  and  our  com- 
pare Two  Hundred  Thirty-five 


itinMriiiiiiiiiiniiiiHiiitiiiiiinitiiiMiiiniiuriMiiitinnniiiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiimiiiminiimniniiiiiiiiiitniiiiniiiiiiniiuiininiiiiniiiiiinniniiiiiunHnnitiinHinnnn 

MEMORIES        —        SOME        OF        MANY 

niiniiMniiniiiiininiiniiinniiniiiiiiniiiiiiMMniiiinnuiiiiiinninnninmiinimiiiiimiiimiiiiiiininiiiMiniiininiiinniininniiiimmiiiiimniiiimiiiiiiiiiMn^ 

panion  pointed  to  one  in  which  she  Hved.  It  had  wide  porches  and 
stood  in  a  grove  of  larch  trees. 

"How  dehghtful!"  I  exclaimed,  and  turning  to  you  said,  "I 
wish  we  could  spend  two  or  three  weeks  in  a  place  like  that." 

We  were  decidedly  nonplussed  when  our  companion  said,  "They 
wouldn't  take  you." 

Of  course  I  flared  up  at  once  saying  indignantly  and  with 
emphasis  "They — wouldn't — take — us !" 

"No"  she  answered  quietly,  "they  wouldn't  take  you." 

Then  you  spoke,  "I  hope,  Miss,  that  you  will  give  us  the 
reason." 

"Yes,  I  will,"  she  said.  "It  is  this  way.  We  come  every  sum- 
mer from  Copenhagen  in  a  large  party.  There  are  many  families 
and  we  are  all  plain,  simple  folk  and  do  not  want  many  things ;  when 
the  English  or  Americans  come  they  must  have  more  and  when  we 
have  more  we  must  pay  more,  so  our  Faders  and  Moders  tell  the 
Vierten  that  when  he  takes  any  English  or  Americans  in  the  house 
we  will  all  go  away  and  never  come  back." 

After  that  explanation  we  had  some  pleasant,  bantering  talk  to 
convince  her  that  many  Americans  like  ourselves  had  simple  tastes. 

"Oh  yes,"  she  said,  "you  have  simple  tastes,  but  you  live  at  the 
Grand  Hotel  and  like  it." 

"Because  houses  like  yours  will  not  admit  us,"  you  laughingly 
told  her. 

We  left  the  tower  and  a  short  distance  down  the  path  turned 
and  looked  up.  She  stood  at  the  railing  and  seeing  us,  waved  both 
hands  in  token  of  farewell. 

"A  daughter  of  the  Vikings"  you  called  her,  and  as  a  daughter 
of  the  Vikings  she  took  her  place  to  mingle  thereafter  with  our 
pleasant  memories. 

The  following  morning  as  we  went  into  the  breakfast  room  we 
were  preceded  by  a  lady,  two  very  pretty  young  girls  and  a  wide- 
awake boy  of  about  ten.  They  joined  a  gentleman  and  we  were 
given  a  small  table  in  a  bay  window  beside  them.  A  service  table 
with  fruit  was  rolled  in  and  as  it  was  halted  in  the  passage  way 
between  our  table  and  theirs  we  could  not  help  seeing  what  was  upon 
it.  Strawberries,  raspberries,  cherries,  a  bunch  of  hothouse  grapes 
and  a  hothouse  melon.  The  berries  were  served  and  the  cherries  and 
grapes  transferred  to  the  large  table. 

We  exchanged  glances  and  smiles,  each  knowing  what  was  in 
the  others  mind.     The  daughter  of  the  Vikings;  the  reputation  of 

Page  Two  Hundred  Thirty-six 


*HiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiuiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiHiiHiiniiiiiiiiiiiiniittmiiiinniin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

auiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiuiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniiiiiiuiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHuiiiiuniiiiniiiiiiiiiuiiiiuiiiiiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiiMi^ 

Americans  for  wanting  many  things;  the  having  more  and  paying 
more.    While  eating  our  breakfast  we  heard  the  following: 

Young  America:    "I  want  a  piece  of  melon." 

Paterfamihas  (folding  up  the  newspaper  he  had  been  reading)  : 
"No,  Harold,  you  have  had  fruit  enough." 

Materf amilias :  "He  may  as  well  have  a  piece,  since  you  ordered 
it.    They  will  probably  charge  for  it." 

And  she  told  their  waiter  to  cut  the  melon. 

Paterfamilias  (apologetically)  :  "I  didn't  order  the  melon.  The 
waiter  asked  what  fruit  he  should  bring  and  I  said,  whatever  you 
have." 

Young  America:  "Oh,  but  that  melons  bully.  I  want  another 
piece.    You  better  try  it.  Dad." 

As  we  were  leaving  the  room,  you  said, 

"Well,  that  was  a  coincidence,"  and  we  wondered  what  the 
Faders  and  Moders  sojourning  on  the  mountainside  would  have 
said,  could  they  have  seen  the  fruit  served  an  American  family  for 
breakfast  and  known  the  cost;  for  the  Grand  was  an  expensive 
hotel;  too  expensive  in  every  way  to  justify  the  notice  at  the  foot  of 
lunch  and  dinner  menus, 

"When  no  wine  is  ordered  there  will  be  a  charge  of  50  ore  (seven 
cents)  for  ice  water,  for  each  person." 

We  went  from  Christiania  to  Stockholm  by  the  night  express, 
and  found  the  sleeping  cars  very  comfortable.  We  noticed  space 
provided  in  each  coach  for  "ladies  traveling  alone."  Reached  Stock- 
holm early  in  the  morning  and  at  the  Grand  Hotel  fairly  revelled  in 
the  unusual  luxury  of  hot  and  cold  running  water  in  our  dressing 
room;  a  delightful  hotel,  the  Grand,  overlooking  the  harbor  and  busy 
quays,  with  charming  distant  views. 

Stockholm  captivated  us  completely  by  its  picturesque  situation; 
a  City  of  parks,  promenades  and  homes  (many  with  splendid  granite 
facades)  of  churches,  statues,  fountains,  shops  and  public  buildings 
extending  over  a  plain;  half-encirchng  hills;  and  islands  that  thickly 
fringed  the  coast. 

Lifts  carried  us  to  the  summits  of  lofty  hills  and  gave  us  wonder- 
ful views,  and  breezy  excursions  in  sheltered  waters  took  us  to  islands 
each  with  its  own  particular  claim  to  beauty  or  interest. 

In  the  Royal  Palace  we  saw  ancient  armor  and  old-time  Scan- 
danavian  costumes ;  in  the  Museum  of  Art  a  fine  collection  of  pictures 
of  the  old  and  modern  schools,  and  one  evening  we  heard  The  Flying 

Page  Two  Hundred  Thirty-seven 


miiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiniiitiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiHHiiiiHiiiiiiiiHiiHiiiiiniintHiiHiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiuniiuniiiiH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

aiiiiiiiiiininiiiiiiniiiiiiuiiiiiiiiniiMiiiinniiniininnnnniuniiuiiiiiniiiimiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiinuiniiiinniiniiiiiiiniitnniininiiuiiniiiiuiiiiiininn 

Dutchman  delightfully  sung  in  the  Royal  Opera  House,  a  mag- 
nificent structure  within  and  without,  standing  on  a  terrace  that 
commanded  a  lovely  view.  The  foyer  was  gorgeous  and  the  hand- 
some restaurant  well  patronized  between  the  acts,  solid  food  and 
much  beer  disappearing.  Our  seats  near  the  middle  of  the  parquet 
cost  four  krone  (60  cents)  each. 

Skansen,  the  great  pleasure-ground,  comprised  seventy  acres  of 
picturesqueness.  Lakes,  forest,  rugged  hills,  pastures,  and  cultivated 
fields ;  Sweden  in  miniature  with  a  railway  to  carry  the  visitor  around, 
and  up  to  peaks  that  gave  glorious  views  on  every  side. 

There  were  many  entertaining  and  instructive  features.  On 
large  platforms  young  people  in  quaint  Scandanavian  costumes  of 
the  dim  past,  sang  folk-songs  and  danced  folk-dances  with  grace  and 
abandon. 

An  immense  aviary  contained  birds  from  the  frozen  North;  a 
large  herd  of  reindeer  roamed  over  their  ample  field,  and  we  saw  elk 
with  magnificent  horns  and  many  fur  bearing  animals. 

An  encampment  of  Laplanders  with  examples  of  their  summer 
and  winter  habitations,  and  uncouth  Lapp  peasants  in  the  dress  of 
their  locality  was  one  of  the  curious  sights. 

We  left  beautiful  Stockholm  with  regret  and  crossed  Sweden 
from  the  Baltic  to  the  North  Sea  by  the  Gota  Canal,  500  miles  in- 
cluding lakes  and  natural  waterways.  Between  the  locks  we  had 
many  a  long,  delightful  walk  on  shady  roads  bordering  the  Canal. 

The  time  was  three  days  and  two  nights.  The  boats  were  com- 
fortable but  space  limited.  The  cabins  contained  two  narrow  berths 
with  a  narrow  passageway  between.  A  tiny  washstand  under  a 
porthole  and  racks  above  the  berths  for  clothing  and  luggage. 

On  the  Gota  Canal  boat  we  fell  in  with  several  peculiarly 
Swedish  customs.  The  institution  of  smorgasbord  was  in  force  at 
every  meal;  a  side  table  with  butter,  cheese,  salt  and  smoked  fish, 
reindeer  meat,  tongue,  pickled  eels,  et  cetera.  That  et  cetera  got  us 
often  into  trouble,  for  tempted  by  curiosity  we  put  many  a  morsel  in 
our  mouths  that  we  swallowed  with  difficulty. 

There  were  bottles  of  arrac,  a  spirituous  liquor,  something  akin 
to  liquid  fire.  The  passengers  helped  themselves  according  to  fancy 
and  carried  their  gain  to  the  breakfast  table  where  they  found  bread, 
cold  meat  and  eggs  cooked  in  different  ways.  The  breakfast  was 
good  and  abundant  but  did  not  include  either  tea  or  coffee,  for 
which  an  extra  charge  was  made.    Many  men  ordered  and  drank  beer. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Thirty-eight 


niiiiiiiniMiiiiiiiiiiniiniiniiiHiiiiiiiMiiniitiiniiininiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiniiiMniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiinniiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiitniiiiiiiniiHiiiiiiHiiu 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

•iiiuiiimiiininiiniiniiiiiinnninuiiuMnnnnnMinniuiHiiiinniinitimiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiinHiuiiniiiiiiiiiuNuimiiMiinaiiiiiuuiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiniiniiiiniin 

The  charge  for  dinner  read,  Ladies  4  krone,  Gentlemen  4  kr. 
50  ore. 

When  we  left  the  boat  at  Gotenborg  we  found  all  the  City  cele- 
brating the  King's  birthday.  Music  by  marching  bands  and  the 
streets  full  of  people  and  bright  with  waving  flags. 

The  following  day  we  went  to  Helsingborg,  and  recrossed  the 
Straits  of  Kattegat  to  Elsinore.  The  King  of  Denmark's  yacht  all 
black  and  gold  with  Royal  standard  flying  was  just  leaving  the 
harbor.  The  King  was  going  to  meet  his  daughter,  the  Queen  of 
England,  and  was  pointed  out  to  us  as  he  paced  the  deck. 

One  of  the  surprises  in  that  Northern  land  was  the  abundance 
of  fruit  seen  in  the  markets  and  fruit  stands;  diff'erent  fruits  that 
we  associate  with  diff'erent  seasons  of  the  year.  In  a  fruiterer's  shop 
at  Copenhagen  that  we  often  visited,  my  ever  ready  pencil  one  day 
jotted  down  the  following:  Nectarines,  apricots  and  peaches  from 
the  City  hot-houses  and  oranges  from  afar ;  but  grown  in  the  country 
around,  cherries,  a  variety  of  plums,  apples  and  pears,  strawberries, 
raspberries,  gooseberries  and  blackberries  all  fine  and  of  excellent 
flavor. 

After  several  pleasant  days  we  went  to  Korsor  and  took  a  boat 
for  Kiel.  At  lunch  you  ordered  a  bottle  of  beer.  When  you  tasted 
it  you  complained  to  the  waiter  that  the  beer  was  not  cold  enough. 

The  gentleman  sitting  next  to  you  said,  "All  Americans  and 
Englishmen  want  their  beer  cold.  We  like  it  better  and  think  it 
better  for  us  when  it  is  not  too  cold." 

That  remark  was  the  beginning  of  a  conversation  that  lasted 
for  the  five  hours  we  were  together  on  the  little  steamer.  Before  we 
left  the  lunch  table  visiting  cards  were  exchanged  and  we  learned  that 
our  companion  was 

F.  Mendahl 
Chambellan  de  S.  M.  le  Roi  de  Danemark 

M.  Mendahl  had  met  all  the  Sovereigns  of  Europe  and  many 
famous  and  distinguished  people  of  whom  he  talked  in  a  most  enter- 
taining way.  He  and  his  wife  spoke  English  fluently.  Mme.  M. 
was  familiar  with  much  of  our  best  literature  and  had  translated 
Motley's  History  of  the  Netherlands  into  Danish. 

They  asked  many  questions  about  California,  and  what  had  most 
interested  us  in  Norway,  Sweden  and  Denmark.  We  spoke  among 
other  things  of  the  beautiful  statue  of  Hans  Christian  Andersen  in 
one  of  the  parks — a  seated  figure  holding  an  open  book  in  one  hand, 

Page  Two  Hundred  Thirty-nine 


imiiinuiiiirnriiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiininiMiriHiMiiiiiMHiininriniiiiHiuiiintiiiiiiiimiiiiiHHHiiiiiiiHiniiiiniuniiiiruimiiuiniiniiiiiiiiMiuiiiiiHniiiiiiniiiinuiiiiiiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

aiiiiiuiiiuiiimiiiimiiiiriiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiniiiuHiiuiiiimuHuiimniiiiiiiiiiuiiimimiuiiiwiiiiiiinuiiiHiiiniinuiuiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiuuniiniinuiiiiiiiiii^^^^ 

the  other  raised  is  if  to  command  attention.  M.  Mendahl  said  we 
might  thank  his  wife  for  that.  Mme.  M.  had  started  the  subscription, 
and  among  many  designs  submitted,  this  one  was  chosen  by  herself 
and  associates.  The  design,  however,  called  for  a  number  of  children 
around  the  base  in  a  listening  attitude.  Mme.  M.  carried  the  design 
to  Andersen  then  sick  in  bed. 

His  own  figure  pleased  him  but  the  children  he  did  not  want. 
"You  know,"  he  said  plaintively,  "they  always  disturb  me."  and  after 
a  pause  added,  "I  do  not  want  to  be  remembered  only  as  a  teller 
of  tales  to  children." 

M.  and  Mme.  Mendahl  (both  past  seventy  years  of  age)  said 
that  when  their  children  were  young,  Andersen,  an  old  man,  was  a 
frequent  visitor  to  their  home  and  the  children  hailed  his  coming  with 
delight,  sure  of  a  wonderful  story;  that  Andersen  was  fond  of  the 
children  of  his  many  friends  but  not  of  children  in  general. 

At  Kiel  we  said  good-by  to  our  delightful  companions  of  the 
afternoon.  They  went  to  the  home  of  a  married  daughter;  we  took 
a  train  for  Hamburg. 

The  following  morning  looking  from  our  windows  in  the  Ham- 
burger Hof  at  the  swans,  and  boats  plying  in  every  direction  on  the 
Basin,  we  discussed  where  we  should  go.  The  discussion  ended  by 
your  saying, 

"I  will  take  you  to  Utrecht  that  you  may  see  the  place  where  the 
Dutch  branch  of  your  ancestors  came  from." 

"You  should  add  in  1635"  I  suggested,  "I  do,  always." 

And  to  Utrecht  we  went;  a  quaint,  interesting  old  town.  The 
University  once  so  famous,  the  Cathedral  with  a  fine  chime  of  musical 
bells,  and  long  rows  of  old-fashioned  houses,  the  pointed  fronts  on 
tree  shaded  streets,  the  backs  built  flush  on  the  canals  with  broad 
flights  of  steps  that  lost  themselves  at  the  waters  edge,  where  boats 
were  tied,  as  in  Venice.  Our  Hotel  stood  in  one  of  those  picturesque 
rows  and  the  boating  on  the  canal  interested  us  very  much. 

We  left  Utrecht  for  Amsterdam  in  a  canal  boat.  On  both  sides 
were  villas,  with  red-tiled  roofs  and  gardens  full  of  flowers.  In  the 
distance,  farm  houses  with  fanciful  hayricks  silhouetted  against  the 
sky,  and  farmers'  daughters  coming  and  going  on  the  paths  made 
pretty  pictures.  They  were  all  dressed  alike.  A  pale  blue  calico 
dress  and  a  white  apron  that  reached  to  the  wooden  shoes;  bare, 
round  arms  and  a  close  fitting  white  cap  that  framed  a  wholesome- 
looking  rosy  face.  Very  pretty  and  very  quaint  they  looked  and  very 
happy  although  each  pair  of  shoulders  carried  a  flat  wooden  yoke 

Page  Two  Hundred  Forty 


'iiiiitiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiii nniiitiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitinniiiniiiiiiiiitiiiMiirinii riii i i iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiiMniiiNiiiriiiniinininiiiiiMiiiniiHnniiiininiiiiriiriiiHiuiinniiiiiirimiiiHiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniuuiMiiniiiiiiHinuiuiinunnininininiiMinnnnitMnnnniininnriiniiinNnn 

and  hanging  by  chains  at  both  ends  a  bucket  filled  with  milk,  fruit 
or  vegetables  to  supply  people  living  in  the  villas. 

The  flat  country,  the  want  of  variety,  the  long  and  frequent 
stops  to  take  on  passengers  and  commodities  and  the  snail's  pace  of 
the  horses  soon  became  wearisome;  but  we  were  bound  for  Amster- 
dam, we  had  a  steamer  trunk  and  there  seemed  no  way  of  escape. 
We  were  talking  with  a  gentleman  who  spoke  English  when  our  boat 
stopped  at  Nyschuss.  Nyschuss!  I  learned  to  spell  it;  but  although 
we  tried  time  after  time,  with  all  the  aid  our  friend  from  the  Nether- 
lands could  give  us,  we  never  got  near  the  right  pronunciation. 
Correctly  spoken,  the  word  sounded  very  much  like  a  double  sneeze 
broken  off  in  the  middle. 

Well!  at  Nyschuss  you  saw  a  boy  with  a  wagon  that  you 
thought  might  be  large  enough  and  strong  enough  for  your  purpose. 
You  asked  the  Dutch  gentleman  how  far  it  was  to  a  railroad  station. 
Three  miles.  He  acted  as  interpreter  and  while  the  boat  was  still  at 
Nyschuss  we  were  walking  on  a  path,  beside  a  small  canal — a  slooten 
— well  on  our  way  to  the  station,  the  boy  and  little  wagon  following 
with  our  trunk  and  traps. 

And  we  went  to  Leiden,  such  a  quaint  place!  The  old  Univer- 
sity, the  old  Town  Hall  and  two  old,  old  Gateways!  and  you  wanted 
to  see  the  house  of  John  Robinson,  the  Noncomfortist  divine  who 
encouraged  and  advised  his  flock  of  Puritans  to  emigrate  to  America 
but  was  too  wise  to  go  with  them.  He  remained  in  Leiden,  and  we 
had  a  great  hunt  to  find  his  house,  and  when  found  concluded  it  was 
not  worth  the  trouble. 

Then  at  the  Hague  we  were  fortunate  in  seeing  Queen  Wilhel- 
mina  going  in  state  to  the  Medieval-looking  Government  buildings. 
The  Queen  was  dressed  in  white,  with  Prince  Henry  beside  her.  The 
carriage  was  drawn  by  six  jet-black  horses  and  the  outriders  were  in 
scarlet  and  gold. 

We  spent  two  months  in  Paris,  the  winter  in  Nice  and  early  in 
April,  1904,  were  at  Gibraltar  on  our  way  to  Tangier,  considered  one 
of  the  worst  landing  places  in  Europe  and  a  storm  was  brewing  on 
that  particular  day.  When  we  reached  the  ship's  ladder  the  passengers 
that  were  going  ashore — all  men — were  in  the  little  boat  and  our  trial 
began. 

There  was  the  Captain  telling  us  to  make  haste  for  the  wind  was 
increasing  every  moment.  There  was  you,  begging  me  not  to  jump 
and  urging  that  we  give  up  the  trip.  There  was  I,  never  seeing  the 
opportunity  nor  having  the  courage  to  make  what  seemed  a  desperate 

Page  Two  Hundred  Forty-one 


itniiiiiiniiiMiiHiiiiiiiiminiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiniiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiitiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiii iitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

iiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iHiMiiinirininMnininiriinniiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiniiiiiiuiiniiiiiiriiniiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 

leap.  There  was  one  of  the  boatmen  vainly  trying  to  hold  the  boat 
for  an  instant  where  I  stood.  There  was  that  demon  of  a  boat, 
tossing  and  rolling,  going  up  on  the  crest  of  a  wave  above  our 
heads  then  dropping  down  into  a  hollow  of  the  sea.  I  was  just  about 
to  turn  back,  when  quick  as  a  flash  a  boatman  grabbed  me,  and  set 
me  down  in  the  lap  of  an  elderly  Englishman. 

"I  am  so  sorry"  I  said  in  apology. 

He  answered  by  saying  politely  "No  matter." 

With  the  gentleman's  help  I  managed  to  stand  up.  Just  then 
the  boat  gave  a  tremendous  lurch  and  I  came  down  with  all  my 
weight  on  the  toes  of  one  of  his  feet. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  very,  very  sorry,"  I  said.  Poor  man!  that  time 
there  was  no  assurance  that  it  was  "no  matter." 

While  I  had  been  floundering  about  you  had  managed  to  get  into 
the  boat  and  we  were  off. 

We  landed  at  the  end  of  a  long  pier  in  the  midst  of  dragomen; 
donkey  boys  and  beggars.  We  gave  our  handbags  to  a  porter  from 
the  Continental  Hotel  and  walked  towards  the  town  until  we  reached 
that  hostelry.  We  were  to  remain  only  twenty-four  hours  and 
wishing  to  make  the  most  of  our  time  we  engaged  a  dragoman  at 
once,  picking  one  out  from  fully  twenty  applicants. 

His  name  was  Tewfik;  he  was  twenty-two  years  of  age,  hand- 
some, and  full  of  zeal  in  his  calling.  He  took  us  to  the  Soko  market 
held  in  a  large  square  outside  the  walls.  A  string  of  camels  had  just 
arrived  and  the  produce  they  brought  was  being  unloaded.  Oranges, 
lemons,  shaddock,  dates,  vegetables,  bunches  of  fragrant  mint,  bags 
of  grain,  hundreds  of  pigeons  in  crates  and  various  kinds  of  poultry. 

Dozens  of  poor  women  were  in  the  square  waiting  to  pick  up  any 
refuse  left  behind  by  the  market  men,  from  the  camels'  packs.  It 
was  difficult  to  believe  they  were  women,  those  shapeless,  ridiculous 
looking  bundles  enveloped  from  head  to  feet  in  coarse,  white,  very 
dirty  woolen  garments,  with  narrow  slits  before  the  eyes  through 
which  they  looked  upon  the  world.  Soon  as  they  saw  us  they  came 
with  whining  voices  and  hands  outstretched  for  alms;  and  such  was 
our  introduction  to  the  romantic  beings  I  had  so  longed  to  see,  "the 
veiled  women  of  the  East." 

The  hotel  dining  room  that  evening  was  a  fascinating  study  for 
me.  There  were  not  many  guests  but  waiters  were  plentiful,  and  I 
had  hard  work  to  keep  my  eyes  from  following  every  turn  those 
waiters  made.  They  were  dressed  in  garments  that  fell  to  the  feet, 
made  of  soft,  shimmering  silk  in  many  colors,  with  narrow  scarlet 

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iHiHiHiiiiiniiiiiiiiiniiiHitiiiiiiiiiiHiitiiiiuiininiiniMiiiiuinMiiiniiiiiiiiiiHiiniiiiriiiiiiiiinitiiiiiiniiiHiniiiiiiiiiiinuMiiiniiiiiiniiiiiiiMiiiiiiniiiiiniiiiiiiiiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

4iiiMiiiiiNiiinHniMiiiniiiiiniinnMiMiiininiiHrniiMiHniiniiiiiiuiniiiHiimimmmMiiiiumiinintnMHnininiiuiiiiniiniiniMiiiHiiiiiiiMMtniinmHiiiMinMiniiiiuiiiiiii^^ 

girdles,  the  short  ends  hanging  at  the  side.  They  were  excellent 
waiters  and  really  graceful  as  they  moved  noiselessly  about  in  their 
slippered  feet. 

A  most  striking  touch  of  Orientalism  was  given  by  four  African 
boys  about  ten  years  of  age  wearing  long,  full  skirts  and  short, 
scarlet  jackets;  they  stood  behind  the  guests,  two  on  each  side  of  the 
table,  with  long  ebony  sticks  at  the  end  of  which  were  disks  of  bright 
colored  paper;  they  were  so  placed  that  they  could  sweep  the  table 
from  end  to  end  and  so  keep  the  swarm  of  flies  from  settling;  but 
for  those  boys  we  should  have  taken  in  flies  with  every  mouthful  of 
food. 

We  had  arranged  with  Tewfik  that  we  would  go  to  a  concert  in 
the  evening  and  after  dinner  we  found  him  waiting  in  the  lobby. 
There  were  no  street  lamps  and  every  one  going  out  at  night  carried 
a  lantern.  I  wanted  one  but  Tewfik  said  ladies  never  carried  them 
and  that  two  would  be  enough  for  our  party. 

The  concert  was  given  in  a  large,  square  room  lighted  by  smelly 
oil  lamps.  On  a  handsome  rug  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  the  Arabs 
sat  cross-legged  in  a  large  circle  minus  shoes  and  slippers  that  were 
left  at  the  door;  they  were  talking  and  laughing,  drinking  tea  or 
coffee  and  eating  cakes.  The  musicians  were  in  a  corner;  their 
instruments  mandolins,  tambourines  and  drums.  The  noise  was 
endurable  until  a  man  with  a  doleful  voice  began  to  sing.  That  was 
dreadful ! 

Tewfik  asked  if  we  would  have  refreshments. 

Yes,  we  would  take  tea  and  cake.  We  were  glad  we  asked  for 
tea,  for  then  we  learned  the  principal  use  to  which  the  quantity 
of  mint  we  had  seen  brought  to  market  was  put.  We  found  about 
a  dozen  leaves  in  our  cups  upon  which  sugar  had  been  sprinkled  and 
the  hot  tea  poured.  It  was  delicious.  We  drank  it  often  in  Tangier, 
and  many  times  thereafter. 

The  waiter  who  served  our  breakfast  next  morning  and  the  boy 
who  brushed  away  the  flies  were  plain  grubs  in  long  skirted  drab 
cotton  dresses  unlike  the  brilliant  butterflies  that  had  hovered  around 
the  dinner  table. 

After  breakfast  we  walked  down  to  the  pier;  waves  were  dash- 
ing over  it,  storm  signals  flying  and  notices  posted,  "Small  boats 
^vill  not  go  out  today."  I  was  jubilant  as  I  wanted  to  stay  longer 
than  you  had  planned. 

We  were  storm-bound  for  three  days,  and  while  the  sea  was 
wind-swept,  the  weather  on  land  was  perfect;  we  had  a  very  happy 

Page  Two  Hundred  Forty-three 


iMiiiinnimininiinniiiiiiiinitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininiiiiniiiiiiiiiiniiimiiiiiiiiiniiiniiiiiinimiiiMiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiuiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiinnin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

MHininuniiiiniiiMuiimiiriniiiniMiMiinMuiirniiMinHiiHnniiiiiiiniiiiiiinniiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniiiininiiiitiiiriiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiMiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiniiininiininuun^ 

time  enjoying  every  moment.  Pleasantly  situated  on  high  ground 
overlooking  a  spacious  bay,  Tangier  was  to  us  an  attractive,  curious 
and  most  interesting  place.  The  square,  two'storied  houses  bluish- 
white  in  color  had  flat  roofs  where  the  women  sat  to  get  the  air.  Some 
were  without  windows,  being  lighted  from  the  roofs ;  others  had  small 
windows  placed  quite  out  of  reach  of  the  Moorish  maidens  who  might 
have  a  fancy  for  flirtation. 

The  few  veiled  women  we  met  on  the  streets  were  a  great  im- 
provement over  those  we  had  seen  in  the  market  place;  they  were 
shapely,  their  clean,  white  garments  did  not  look  so  burdensome  and 
the  separate  veil  of  lighter  fabric  showing  the  dark,  lustrous  eyes  gave 
a  romantic  suggestiveness  of  what  might  be  hidden. 

The  Moorish  merchants  were  studies  in  black  and  white.  Their 
shops  open  to  the  street  simply  consisted  of  boxes  with  shelves  on 
three  sides;  in  the  middle,  cross-legged  the  merchants  sat,  all  their 
goods  within  reach.  The  white  bournous  left  bare  the  arms,  and  legs, 
from  the  knees  to  the  yellow-slippered  feet;  large,  white  turbans 
completed  the  singular  dress.  When  they  smoked  their  hookahs — 
long  pipes,  the  bowls  so  arranged  that  the  smoke  was  cooled  by  water 
— they  were  pictures  of  contentment.  They  seemed  indiflPerent  about 
selling;  rather  gave  the  impression  of  not  wanting  to  be  disturbed. 

On  one  occasion  we  found  an  English  couple  bargaining  for  a 
piece  of  rich  stufl*  spread  over  a  merchant's  lap;  passing  again  an 
hour  later  they  were  still  there. 

"Are  you  making  any  progress?"  you  asked. 

They  smiled,  and  the  lady  answered,  "Very  little  up  to  this 
time;  but  I  am  hopeful." 

The  Jewish  population  was  large.  The  women  were  fine  looking, 
dressed  richly,  wore  a  great  deal  of  jewelry  and  went  about  the  streets 
unveiled.  The  Jewish  merchants  had  fine  shops  well  stocked  with 
high-grade  goods.  Many  were  striking  figures  in  garments  of  purple 
cloth.  Others,  not  pleasant  to  look  at,  that  Tewfik  said  came  from 
Poland,  wore  long,  shiny,  greasy-looking,  black  alpaca  coats  that 
fell  to  the  feet  and  black  skull  caps  with  curls  hanging  down  on  each 
side  of  the  face. 

The  streets  were  animated,  narrow,  dirty  and  roughly  paved. 
Donkeys  and  ponies  loaded  with  conmiodities  or  carrying  people,  and 
occasionally  a  veiled  woman;  the  boys  in  charge  shouting  their  cry  of 
warning,  "balak,  balak;"  noisy,  bare-legged  water  carriers  with  boar 
skins  on  their  shoulders  from  which  they  poured  water  in  brass  cups 
for  the  thirsty;  dogs  barking;  donkeys  braying;   men  prostrating 

Page  Two  Hundred  Forty-four 


■iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitniiiiiiiitiiuiiiiiiiiitiHniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiimiiiiiii tiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

nnniiininiiiiiinimiiiiimmuiiiiiiiininiiMiiiiiiuiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiJiiiiiiriininimiiiiininniiniiniiiniiiiiiiiriniiuniiinniiiiiiinininniiiiniiiniiiiiiiiniiiiiMiiiiiiui 

themselves  at  sound  of  the  Muezzin's  voice  calling  the  faithful  to 
prayer;  men  at  a  fountain  washing  their  faces,  legs  and  feet  before 
entering  the  mosque  to  pray ;  beggars ;  snake  charmers ;  women  sitting 
on  the  housetops;  now  and  then  an  ungainly  camel  crowding  every 
one  to  the  wall.  Such  were  the  sights  and  sounds  in  the  nameless 
streets  of  Tangier. 

Tewfik  asked  if  I  would  like  to  see  the  inside  of  a  harem.  Hear- 
ing that  I  would,  at  an  appointed  time,  with  a  large  box  of  Turkish 
sweetmeats  that  Tewfik  said  was  the  usual  offering,  we  made  our 
way  to  a  certain  house.  In  answer  to  a  rap,  the  door  was  opened  by 
a  black  mite  of  a  boy  (African)  and  while  you  paced  up  and  down 
the  block,  I  went  within;  first  into  a  vestibule  and  from  there  into  a 
room  lighted  by  windows  near  the  ceiling. 

There  were  four  houris  ?  in  the  room ;  two  seated  Turkish  fashion 
on  flat  cushions,  two  reclining  on  divans.  Their  faces  looked  like 
masks  and  were  devoid  of  all  expression,  so  thickly  were  they  pow- 
dered, white  and  red.  There  were  no  chairs.  A  pile  of  cushions  was 
pointed  out  to  me  and  I  sat  down;  then  one  by  one  they  gathered 
round;  they  fingered  the  cloth  of  my  jacket  and  skirt;  they  fingered 
the  trimming  of  my  hat,  pulled  at  my  gloves,  pinched  the  box  in  my 
lap  and  tried  to  take  off  my  jacket.  I  resisted  that,  but  opened  it 
and  threw  it  back;  they  fingered  the  silk  of  my  waist  and  a  string  of 
beads  I  was  wearing,  talking  like  magpies  all  the  while. 

Their  hands  were  small,  the  fingers  loaded  with  rings,  the  arms 
with  bracelets  and  around  their  open  throats  were  necklaces  galore. 
Their  loose  gowns  were  made  of  soft  silk  and  pretty  slippers  covered 
their  stockingless  feet.  I  gave  the  one  nearest  me  the  box  of  sweets. 
They  fell  upon  it  like  greedy  children;  when  it  was  nearly  empty 
they  began  snatching  and  with  shrieks  of  laughter  chased  each  other 
about  the  room  for  the  last  pieces. 

A  guitar  was  standing  against  the  wall;  I  held  it  out  to  each  in 
turn  but  only  a  shake  of  the  head  rewarded  me.  The  sweetmeats 
gone  and  their  curiosity  about  my  dress  satisfied,  they  went  back  list- 
lessly to  their  cushions  and  divans  and  I  went  to  the  door  which  little 
Africa  opened  for  me. 

The  best  part  of  all  the  experience  that  you  did  not  share,  Dear 
Heart,  was  the  telling  it  to  you,  and  my  visit  to  the  harem  was  no 
exception. 

We  soon  exhausted  the  town  and  our  thoughts  turned  to  the 
country.  There  was  no  railroad,  no  wagon  road,  no  wheeled  vehicle 
of  any  kind  but  always  in  front  of  our  hotel  any  number  of  boys  with 

Page  Two  Hundred  Forty-live 


iininiiiiiiiiiiiiniiinniiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiMniiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiniiiiiiiiHiiimiiiniiiiiinniiiiiniiiiiiiitiiiiiiitiiiinniHniirMitiMnniuinMiiiiniiiiiiiiniiniiiiMiinniniiniiiiiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiMiiiiiiiiiiimininiiiiiitiiniiiiuiiiHiriiHnniiiiMiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiininiiiMiiiiiiiimuinniiiiNiiiiiMiiiiiirnininiHiniiiiniinnniiiniiininitiiuiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiii^ 

donkeys  and  ponies  for  hire;  and  two  of  the  latter  Tewfik  engaged 
for  us.  Instead  of  saddles,  large,  flat  seats  thickly  padded  were 
tightly  strapped  to  the  little  horses'  backs;  with  a  boy  at  the  head  of 
each  and  Tewfik  walking  at  my  side,  we  started. 

The  low  hills  back  of  the  City  were  green  and  the  country  culti- 
vated and  beautiful.  We  had  ridden  only  a  few  miles  when  we 
reached  a  grove  where  nightingales  were  singing  delightfully;  we 
listened  for  a  long  time  then  rode  on  along  the  seashore  towards  Fez, 
the  capital,  thirty  miles  away  where  the  Sultan  was  then  residing;  we 
were  on  the  line  of  communication  between  the  Palace  and  Govern- 
ment buildings  in  Tangier,  and  we  met  and  were  passed  by  army 
Officers  in  beautiful  uniforms  and  Moors  in  fez  and  rich  Oriental 
dress;  they  were  all  mounted  on  handsome  horses  and  added  greatly 
to  our  entertainment. 

We  saw  many  men  in  ordinary  dress  of  white  bournous  and 
turban,  well  mounted  and  carrying  guns  with  long,  slender  barrels; 
some  were  beautifully  inlaid;  others  of  chiselled  brass  or  steel.  You 
stopped  several  and  were  allowed  to  examine  the  guns,  but  none 
wanted  to  sell.  Tewfik  said  you  could  buy  them  in  town  but  they 
were  very  dear,  and  when  I  asked  whatever  you  would  do  with  a  gun, 
you  answered  with  a  smile,  "Give  it  to  a  friend." 

Twelve  miles  from  Tangier  we  came  to  a  wooded  point  jutting 
out  in  the  water  where  wealthy  citizens  had  charming  homes.  From 
there  we  turned  back;  but  we  had  enjoyed  the  ride  so  much,  that 
next  day  when  we  saw  the  storm  signals  still  up  we  repeated  it; 
the  nightingales  were  always  singing  in  the  grove  and  we  saw  many 
picturesque  and  interesting  people.  As  we  neared  the  outskirts  of 
the  city  on  our  return,  crossing  our  path  at  right  angles  we  saw  fully 
twenty  horsemen  riding  rapidly;  they  all  had  long  barreled  guns 
which  they  twirled  around  their  heads  and  discharged  in  the  air.  Their 
proximity  and  the  noise  of  the  firearms  were  terrifying  but  Tewfik 
laughed  and  said  it  was  a  wedding  procession  and  the  riders  were 
friends  of  the  groom  frightening  away  evil  spirits  from  the  new 
household;  that  the  marriage  would  take  place  that  evening  and  he 
would  find  out  where. 

After  dinner  we  found  Tewfik  waiting  with  his  two  lanterns. 
We  had  a  long  walk  through  dark  streets  lighted  only  by  our  two 
lanterns  and  then  came  upon  a  singular  scene.  A  large  gathering  of 
white  clad  Moors  sitting  cross  legged  on  the  pavement  of  the  street, 
each  with  a  lantern  that  lighted  up  the  black  face  under  the  white 
turban.  They  glowered  at  me  as  we  made  our  way  to  an  open  space 
and  sat  down  on  fiber  cushions  that  Tewfik  had  brought. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Forty-six 


nniiiiiiiinMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiHiiiMiiiiiiHiiiiiMiiniHiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiitiniiniiiiiiiiiiMiiininimiiiiiiiiniiiiniiiniriiuininiiiiiMiniii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

«iiiiiiiiniiiinMnMiiiiiniiniiniiiiiiiiiniiiiniiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiniuuiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiii»iinnmHniiiiiiinimiiiiirMUiinniiiiiiininnnimiiiiiniiiinitiiiiiiMiMiiniiiiiiiin^ 

After  a  wearisome  wait  a  gaily  caparisoned  donkey  carrying  a 
large  box  with  small  openings  near  the  top  and  draped  with  bright 
colored  silk  was  led  to  the  house  in  front  of  us.  Two  Moors  carried 
the  box  in  and  when  they  brought  it  out  and  fastened  it  to  the 
donkey's  back,  it  contained  the  bride.  Then  came  the  presents.  An 
African  slave,  and  trays  loaded  with  household  articles  and  gaudy 
cheap -looking  ornamental  pieces  carried  by  boys  in  long  skirts  and 
scarlet  jackets. 

When  the  donkey  was  led  away  two  Moors  walked  on  each  side 
of  the  bride — her  father  and  brothers,  Tewfik  said.  Then  the  white 
figures  rose  from  the  street  and  with  the  dancing  lanterns,  and  an 
occasional  man  bearing  on  his  head  a  candelabrum  holding  eight 
candles,  the  singular  and  picturesque  procession  moved  along. 

We  followed  it  to  the  Mosque.  A  devout  looking  man  in  rich 
vestments  stood  at  the  door.  He  pronounced  some  words  in  Arabic 
that  Tewfik  said  was  the  religious  part  of  the  ceremony;  then  the 
bride  was  taken  to  the  house  of  the  husband  she  had  never  seen  and 
the  wedding  was  over. 

We  asked  Tewfik  if  the  boxed  in  bride  was  the  first  wife.  He 
said,  "No,  she  is  the  fourth  and  he  can't  have  any  more  because  the 
law  wont  let  him ;  but  he  can  have  a  large  harem  if  he's  got  plenty 
of  money." 

The  following  morning  when  we  walked  to  the  pier,  storm 
signals  had  disappeared.  A  small  steamer  that  rolled  and  pitched  and 
made  me  horribly  seasick  carried  us  to  Cadiz  and  we  went  leisurely 
through  Spain. 

We  spent  a  week  in  Seville,  renewing  our  acquaintance  with  the 
charming  patios;  saw  the  beautiful  Palace  and  grounds  of  the  Duke 
of  Montpensier  and  many  interesting  things  debarred  us  on  our 
former  visit  during  Holy  Week. 

At  the  Alhambra  we  had  two  delightful  weeks,  and  the  charm  of 
that  romantic  place  seemed  to  increase  with  every  visit.  In  April 
days  of  four  separate  years  we  heard  the  music  of  the  murmuring 
fountains,  and  the  nightingales  singing  in  the  grove;  saw  the  roses 
in  their  bloom  and  wandered  through  the  glorious  Courts  and  Halls 
of  the  Palace. 

On  one  of  our  visits,  coming  down  the  hillside  where  we  had  gone 
for  a  view  from  the  tallest  of  the  "ruddy  towers"  we  passed  near  a 
low  wall  on  which  a  half  dozen  little  girls  were  sitting.  They  all  had 
flowers  in  their  hands  and  flowers  pinned  in  their  hair.  They  made  a 
very  pretty  picture  and  we  stopped  to  admire  them.    While  we  looked 

Page  Two  Hundred  Forty-seven 


•niiiiiiiniiiiitniiiiimiiimnMiiiiiiiiinMiiniiinMniiiiiniiiiitriiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiMimimiiiiiiiiiiitiHiiiiiiiniiiinniiiiiiiininHiiiniiiiniiiiiniiiniiiiiiinntiit^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

fiiiiiiiiiiiiii imiiiiiiiinnuiniMiniiiiniininiMinnMiiiiiunniiiiiiiiimuHiiiiinniinmiunriiiiniiiniiMMiininniininiiiutniiiiHiinniiiMiiiniininiiiiHiniiiiiiiiiniiinHiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiir 

two  boys  came  swaggering  along  each  carrying  a  piece  of  red  stuff 
that  looked  like  a  bit  of  worn  out  under  clothing;  they  were  talking 
with  the  girls  when  in  bounded  a  boy  with  a  pair  of  horns  fastened 
to  his  forehead. 

"We  are  evidently  going  to  see  a  bull  fight,"  you  said,  as  we  both 
began  to  laugh. 

The  bull  lowered  his  head  and  lunged  at  the  boys  who  waved 
their  strips  of  red  and  jumped  this  way  and  that  in  a  very  lively 
manner.  After  some  time  of  this  play  the  Toreador  came  with  a  bit 
of  the  same  old  red  garment  in  one  hand,  and  a  long,  thin  piece  of 
wood  in  the  other  hand.  He  and  the  bull  had  a  long  tussle  then  by  a 
successful  thrust  he  dehorned  the  bull,  that  at  once  fell  lifeless  to  the 
ground.  The  little  girls  showered  all  their  flowers  on  the  brave 
Toreador,  even  those  pinned  to  their  hair. 

We  went  to  Madrid  and  from  there  to  Biarritz  that  delightful 
French  watering  place  of  which  the  Empress  Eugenia  was  so  fond; 
with  fine  hotels,  casinos  and  luxurious  villas.  The  little,  old  fishing 
village — ^the  original  Biarritz — we  found  very  quaint  and  interesting. 

We  stopped  at  Lourdes,  in  the  midst  of  a  romantic-looking 
country.  The  statue  of  the  Virgin,  "Our  Lady  of  Lourdes,"  above 
the  grotto,  the  votive  offerings,  and  the  walls  hidden  by  piles  of 
crutches  left  by  the  multitude  of  pilgrims  who,  cured  by  faith,  had  no 
further  need  of  them,  was  really  impressive. 

We  drove  through  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Cauterets,  spent 
some  time  in  Paris  and  June  19,  1904,  sailed  from  Cherbourg  for 
New  York. 

We  swung  around  our  elliptical  circle  reaching  San  Francisco 
6y  way  of  Southern  California  in  December.  We  spent  the  early 
summer  of  1905  in  our  old  home  and  in  August  sailed  on  the  S.  S. 
Republic  for  Liverpool. 

We  went  to  Dumfries,  saw  the  house  where  Burns  lived  and 
died,  and  talked  with  his  granddaughter  and  great  granddaughter; 
kindly,  cheerful  bodies  in  very  plain  surroundings.  In  the  Globe 
Hotel  we  saw  Burn's  chair,  his  pipes  and  punch  bowl. 

The  country  between  Dumfries  and  Glasgow  was  full  of  interest 
for  us.  We  passed  through  the  bonny  Maxwellton  braes  where 
Annie  Laurie  lived.  She  of  the  pretty  Scotch  song  of  which  you 
were  so  fond;  and  up  in  the  rugged  hills  was  Craigenputtock  where 
Carlyle  and  his  wife  spent  many  years.  To  that  place  Emerson  went 
to  visit  carlyle,  and  wrote,  "There  among  the  unfrequented  hills  the 
lonely  scholar  nourishes  his  mighty  heart,"  and  there  (before  she  had 

Page  Two  Hundred  Forty-eight 


*iitriiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinniiri(iMtiiiiiiiiiiii niiniiiiiiniiniiiiiiiininininiiiiiiiimiiiiiiimiiii iiiiiiiiiniiniuiiirndiiiitiiiiiMiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitmiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiinn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

"'■"■■■o" iiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinii II iiiiitiitniiimiiiiiiimuiiiimiiiiiiiiiiniiiiuimiiiniiiiiniiiiiiiiiiitiimiimiHiiniiuiiiiiimniiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiMUiiiiinii 

mastered  the  art)  his  adorable  wife,  Jenny  Welch  Carlyle,  sat  up 
many  times  until  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  waiting  for  her  bread 
to  rise  and  be  ready  for  the  oven. 

From  Glasgow  to  Grennock  and  the  river-like  Crinnan  Canal 
ten  miles  in  length  with  ten  locks  between  most  of  which  we  walked 
with  bare-footed  children,  their  little  hands  full  of  pink  heather  that 
they  eagerly  exchanged  for  pennies.  What  queer  little  beings  they 
were!  and  how  their  queer  speech  and  sayings  amused  us.  The  scen- 
ery was  very  pretty  with  glades  of  delicious  wildness  and  lovely  homes 
scattered  among  the  heathery  hills. 

From  Crinnan — the  end  of  the  canal — a  larger  boat  carried  us 
into  the  almost  land-locked  harbor  of  Oban.  With  a  background  of 
lofty  mountains,  wooded  hills  dotted  with  pretty  villas  rising  from  the 
circular  bay,  yachts  on  the  water,  men  in  Highland  dress  on  the  street, 
the  music  of  an  occasional  bagpipe,  and  animation  everywhere,  Oban 
was  to  us  a  most  delightful  Highland  town. 

The  next  day,  between  a  chain  of  lovely  islands,  and  the  main- 
land of  hills,  some  low  and  some  lofty,  with  feathery  cascades  tumb- 
ling down  between  banks  of  heather,  we  went  from  Oban  to  Banavie 
where  we  spent  the  night.  Directly  opposite  our  hotel  loomed  Ben 
Nevis,  a  mountain  the  Scotch  speak  of  with  pride.  It  is  picturesque 
but  as  a  mountain  to  be  proud  of!  Well!  the  least  said  the  better! 

The  scenery  in  the  Caledonian  Canal  was  fine,  rugged  and  in- 
teresting. Small,  shaggy  Highland  cattle  and  bands  of  sheep;  lone 
sheilings  on  the  misty,  heathery  mountains,  and  far  apart,  lonely 
shepherds  in  long  cloaks  leaning  on  their  crooks  to  watch  the  passing 
boat;  always  a  collie  dog  beside  them  that  greeted  us  with  a  bark. 
It  was  a  beautiful  day — the  first  without  rain  for  six  weeks  the  Cap- 
tain told  us — and  very  happy  and  very  thankful,  we  reached  the  rose- 
red  town  of  Inverness,  the  Capital  of  the  Highlands. 

We  left  Inverness  by  the  Plighland  railroad  running  through 
the  Grampian  hills;  beautiful  and  picturesque;  often  wild  where 
streams  dashed  with  foam  and  roar  between  deep,  rocky  banks.  We 
stopped  at  Perth,  Dundee,  Aberdeen  and  St.  Andrews.  Oh  those 
Scotch  towns!  how  delightful  and  interesting  they  were!  and  the 
people  so  friendly  and  kindly.  Each  place  was  marked  by  some  little 
incident  that  we  remembered  with  pleasure. 

The  famous  golf  links  at  St.  Andrews  stretch  along  the  sea 
shore  for  a  mile  and  a  half.  The  day  we  were  there  a  game  was  on 
between  two  players  of  note  with  a  large  number  of  people  looking 
on.    The  strokes  those  men  made  were  wonderful!    We  followed  full 

Page  Two  Hundred  Forty-nine 


'■niiiit iiniiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiritiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiii niiiniimiiriiiiiriiiiiiiuiiiiniiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitniMiiiiiiiHHiiiinniniiiinHiMiiiuinniiiininMiiiniiiiniiiiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirimiitiiiiiiiiMiitMiHniNiiiiniiiiiiiininrinniiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniii^ 

of  interest,  when  suddenly,  from  an  almost  cloudless  sky  came  a  heavy 
shower  of  rain.  The  game  went  on  as  did  many  of  the  spectators,  but 
we  hurried  to  the  nearest  shelter  and  did  not  see  the  finish. 

From  St.  Andrews  to  ever  delightful  Edinburgh.  When  the 
weather  was  fine  we  always  went  at  sundown  to  the  Castle  to  see  the 
changes  of  guard  and  hear  the  bagpipes.  One  day  we  saw  a  group 
of  Officers  and  men  at  the  angle  of  a  wall  where  we  knew  a  small 
cemetery  was  located,  with  marble  slabs  in  memory  of  pet  regimental 
dogs;  and  there  the  interment  was  taking  place  of  the  Colonel's  pet, 
and  a  really  sorrowful  man  the  Colonel  seemed  to  be.  As  we  turned 
away  we  talked  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  declining  an  invitation  to  dinner 
because  of  the  loss  of  a  dear  friend — one  of  his  beloved  hounds. 

We  went  to  London  and  to  Paris,  and  one  day  you  read  that  the 
vintage  season  had  commenced  in  the  champagne  region  and  sug- 
gested that  as  we  had  never  seen  the  Rheims  Cathedral  it  would  be 
well  to  do  so  at  that  time,  and  also  see  something  of  the  grape  gather- 
ing; so  we  went  to  Rheims,  one  of  those  delightful  old-time  cities  so 
common  in  Europe.  Broad  tree-lined  streets  with  the  upper  storys 
of  houses  projecting  over  the  sidewalk,  forming  arcades,  where  after- 
noons and  evenings  cafes  filled  all  their  space  with  chairs  and  tables; 
and  there  people  sat  by  the  hour  sipping  absinthe,  eau  sucre  or  coffee, 
and  eating  tiny  cakes. 

A  delightful  old  square  built  around  with  warehouses,  bazaars, 
shops  and  private  residences;  charming  parks  and  boulevards  on 
which  the  wealthy  had  their  homes.  Many  picturesque  old  houses — 
one  most  remarkable,  "The  House  of  the  Musicians;"  across  the 
facade  stretched  a  band  of  large,  painted  figures  playing  upon  the 
musical  instruments  of  their  day. 

A  monument  of  past  ages,  "The  Roman  Porte  de  Mars;"  a 
triple  triumphal  arch,  with  fluted,  time-worn  Corinthian  columns ;  and 
among  the  near-by  flowers,  and  shrubbery,  a  bed  of  tall,  graceful 
papyrus  plants  rose  from  a  pool  of  water.  Rows  and  rows  of  attract- 
ive homes,  occupied  by  working  people,  with  pots  of  bright  flowers 
on  the  window  sills;  for  Rheims  in  addition  to  being  a  center  of  the 
trade  in  champagne  had  many  factories  where  woolen  and  cotton 
goods  were  made. 

The  pleasant,  old  city  sheltered  a  prosperous,  happy  and  con- 
tented people  enjoying  their  work  and  recreation.  Dark-eyed,  bright- 
faced  children  romped  through  the  streets  and  all  was  life  and  anima- 
tion. 

In  the  city's  very  heart  the  Cathedral;  one  of  the  noblest,  most 

Page  Two  Hundred  Fifty 


'iMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiitMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiMiiimniiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiii i iiiiniiiiiiniiiiniiiiiiiiiiiniiiiuiiiiiiiiiimi iiii iiiiinin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

'■>>■■>■■' iiiiniriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiii Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiitiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiJiiiiiiiiiitiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiii 

magnificent  Gothic  Cathedrals  in  all  the  World  with  a  perfectly 
amazing  and  bewildering  wealth  of  decoration.  In  the  deeply  re" 
cessed  portals  of  the  Western  front,  rows  of  statues  of  Saints, 
Apostles  and  Kings,  one  row  above  another,  and  over  the  central 
portal  a  glorious  rose  window  that  with  galleries  and  towers  and 
lace-like  detail,  completed  the  exquisite  facade.  On  every  side  of  the 
grand,  old  Cathedral  statues,  single  and  in  groups,  with  figures  of 
animals  and  scenes  illustrating  Bible  history  or  some  bit  of  the 
secular  lore  of  France.  Flying  buttresses,  spires  and  turrets  con- 
nected by  graceful,  airy  galleries  of  open  stone  work,  while  far  out 
from  the  walls  gargoyles  thrust  their  grotesque  heads. 

In  the  vast  interior,  "the  color  of  a  hundred  gardens"  gleamed 
from  the  lovely  old  stained  glass  windows;  statues  looked  out  from 
their  niches;  wreaths  of  foliage  mingled  with  human  and  fantastic 
figures  about  the  capitals  of  the  massive  octagonal  columns ;  the  choir 
stalls  of  oak  were  beautifully  carved;  medallions  of  scriptural  and 
historical  pictures  in  stone,  were  framed  in  a  tracery  of  rose  and  lily 
and  the  running  vine  of  the  grape;  there  was  a  14th  century  organ 
and  the  aisles  were  hung  with  old,  old  tapestries. 

And  what  brilliant  scenes  had  been  enacted  there!  where  for 
centuries  the  French  Kings  were  crowned  and  where  that  world- 
famous  coronation  took  place  in  which  Joan  of  Arc  played  so  roman- 
tic a  part.  Joan  of  Arc  whose  equestrian  statue  stands  in  front  of 
the  Cathedral  as  though  on  guard! 

One  day  we  stood  among  the  wealth  of  carving  on  the  roof! 
among  the  airy  galleries,  the  delicate  pinnacles  and  turrets ;  we  walked 
around  the  grand  towers  admiring  the  work  upon  them,  and  on  the 
uppermost  balustrade  studied  the  faces  of  the  elfish  little  seated 
figures  that  looked  over  the  City. 

From  time  to  time  during  the  World  War  the  Germans  made  a 
target  of  the  Rheims  Cathedral!  As  reverses  on  the  Western  front 
became  more  frequent  they  took  revenge  by  shelling  the  City. 

Then  came  a  day  when  it  pleased  the  Vandals  to  martyr  Rheims ! 
Not  a  house  left  standing ! 

"No  homes,  no  flowers  are  there. 
Nor  any  trees,  or  little  running  feet;" 

and  the  glorious  Cathedral,  that  for  ages  to  come,  should  have  been 
the  heritage  of  every  one  who  loved  the  old  and  the  beautiful,  was 
reduced  to  ruin;  destroyed  in  such  utter  wickedness  and  wantonness, 
that  the  perpetrators  of  the  outrage  have  won  for  themselves  the 
scorn  of  the  civilized  World! 

Page  Two  Hundred  Fifty-one 


«iniiiiiiiiiiniiiiininiiiiiuiiiiiiiHriiiniiiiniiiininiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiimiiiinmiNiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuniiiiiiiiniiniiiiiiHiiniMiiiiniiiniiniiiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

itiiitininiiiiiuiiiHmiiniiniiiMiiiiiiiiiiiuinnnniiiiMniuuinninniiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiniiiiiniiiiiiiiiinimiininiiHininiiiiiniiiiiHuiiniiHininiininiiHiiiMiiniininM 

One  red  letter  day  during  our  stay  in  Rheims  we  drove  to  Eper- 
nay,  fifteen  miles  away,  over  a  smooth  road  with  trees  arching  over- 
head. The  country  was  charming.  Vineyards  and  orchards,  grain 
fields  and  pastures  where  a  few  cattle,  and  many  sheep  grazed.  In 
hill  and  valley  vineyards,  the  grape  harvest  was  going  on.  Only  at 
short  intervals  were  we  out  of  the  sound  of  talk,  laughter  and  bits  of 
song,  and  the  sight  of  picturesque  groups  of  peasants  among  the 
russet,  red  and  orange  leaves ;  the  men  and  boys  in  blue  smock-frocks, 
the  women  and  girls  in  blue  aprons  that  covered  them  completely; 
the  old  women  wore  white-frilled  caps,  the  younger  women  and  girls 
broad-brimmed  hats.  Every  one  carried  a  basket,  and  large  shears, 
or  knives  with  curved  blades  used  for  the  cutting.  The  vines  were 
dwarfed  and  stocky;  the  clusters  small;  the  grapes  small,  black  and 
very  sweet. 

At  Epernay  we  were  in  the  Valley  of  the  Marne,  narrow  at  that 
point  but  very  pretty.  The  streets  of  the  toM^n  were  narrow  with 
many  picturesque  twists  and  turns.  In  a  delightful  suburb  called 
"La  Folic"  the  rich  wine  merchants  had  their  lovely  villas. 

Mme.  Pommery's  wine  cellar  at  Rheims  was  undergoing  repairs 
and  visitors  were  not  admitted  so  we  were  glad  to  go  through  the 
cellar  of  Moet  et  Chandon  at  Epernay.  Down  steep  stairs  seventy- 
five  feet  underground  we  came  to  the  great  cellar  containing  7,000,000 
bottles  of  champagne.  Miles  and  miles  of  white  galleries  hewn  from 
the  chalk  rock  and  long,  dim  corridors  terminating  in  caves  where  the 
wine  was  stored, — over  the  arched  entrance,  the  name  of  the  city  to 
which  the  wine  would  be  consigned,  and  we  were  rather  pleased  to 
see  San  Francisco's  goodly  share. 

In  the  caves,  men  clad  in  white,  looking  in  the  dim  light  like 
sprites,  were  at  work.  The  slanting  bottles  stood  in  racks,  and  the 
sprites  simply  gave  them  a  little  shake  to  disturb  the  sediment,  and 
then  replaced  them. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  we  returned  to  Rheims  but  work  in 
the  vineyards  was  still  going  on.  The  weather  had  been  perfect; 
tomorrow  rain  might  come,  and  as  many  grapes  as  possible  must  be 
gathered. 

The  next  afternoon  we  took  a  train  for  Chalous-sur-Marne  and 
went  to  the  Marne  Hotel.  Access  to  the  rooms  was  had  through  an 
unattractive  court  by  an  unattractive  staircase.  "Third  or  fourth 
class,"  I  whispered  to  you  as  we  followed  a  boy  to  the  room  assigned 
us,  where  a  femme  de  chamhre  had  already  brought  a  jug  of  hot 
water  and  a  carafe  of  drinking  water.    Madame  herself  came  to  see 

Page  Two  Hundred  Fifty-two 


iiiiiniiiinniiiMHininniiiiiinniiiiinuiiinMiiiinirnrniinintiriniiiiiiuiiiiHmuiiiiMiimrniMiiiniinMiimMiniininitnninniiniiiiiMiiiiirmiiniiinHMiiiininiiiiiiiiHiiuii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iniuiiiiiiiiMiiiiiinniiniinniniiiuiinMHniiiuMniiiiuMinnniimiMiniinniiiiimHiiiiiiiimiiininiiinimiiiiiiiiiiininiiniiiiiiiMiiiiiinniiiiriHniiniiMHiniininHMiiiiiriniiii 

if  anything  was  needed,  but  not  before  I  had  taken  in  the  surprise  of 
the  room.  Over  the  bed  a  canopy  of  figured  satin  with  coverlid  of 
the  same;  easy  chairs  upholstered  in  satin;  at  the  windows,  lace  and 
damask  silk  curtains;  fine  linen  towels. 

Our  dinner  was  delicious  and  perfect  in  every  way.  The  host 
himself  brought  the  small  bottle  of  chateau  wine  you  had  ordered, 
and  looked  carefully  over  the  table.  It  was  one  of  those  delightful 
Hotels  found  nowhere  in  such  perfection  as  in  France  where  the 
Host  and  Hostess  supervise  every  detail  of  the  house. 

At  Chalons,  the  Marne  was  crossed  by  a  fine  stone  bridge  over 
which  we  walked  next  morning.  The  town  had  cotton,  linen  and 
woolen  factories  and  the  largest  wine  cellar  in  the  World  with  fifteen 
miles  of  galleries. 

At  my  suggestion  we  stopped  at  Bar-le-Duc.  I  wanted  to  see 
the  home  of  that  delectable  confiture  put  up  in  the  dainty  glass  pots. 
The  windows  and  shops  were  full  of  it  and  the  quaint,  old  town  stood 
in  the  midst  of  fields  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of  red  and  white 
currants  and  gooseberries.  In  a  narrow  side  street  called  the  Cafe 
des  Oiseaux  we  saw  a  wonderful  collection  of  stuffed  birds. 

From  Bar-le-Duc  we  went  to  Nancy,  a  bright,  gay,  beautiful 
city  with  gushing  fountains,  parks,  statues,  squares  built  around 
with  handsome  structures,  attractive  shops  that  displayed  exquisite 
embroideries,  glassware  and  pottery  of  unique  and  artistic  design — all 
specialties  of  the  town.  A  magnificent  Triumphal  Arch  at  the 
entrance  to  a  lovely  park  had  three  large  gates  with  Corinthian 
columns  supporting  a  group  of  statuary  and  single  figures — all  de- 
stroyed later  by  German  airplanes. 

Ouly  thirty  miles  away  was  Chateau  Thierry  where  at  the  most 
critical  time  of  the  World  War,  our  dear,  brave  American  boys  made 
their  breasts  the  barrier  that  stemmed  the  German  tide  flowing 
towards  Paris. 

From  Nancy  we  returned  to  Paris  and  in  November  were  loiter- 
ing in  Marseilles  on  our  way  to  Nice  for  the  winter.  Scanning  one 
day  the  long  sailing  list  of  ships  and  steamers  going  to  scattered 
ports  of  the  World,  you  turned  to  me  and  asked, 

"How  would  you  like  to  go  to  Egypt?" 

"Beyond  and  above  anything  and  everything,"  I  answered. 

"I  could  not  afford  to  take  you  up  the  Nile  on  a  dahabeeah,"  you 
continued,  "but  the  Tombs  and  Temples,  the  country  and  people 
would  look  the  same.    A  few  days  later,  November  tenth,  we  sailed 

Page  Two  Hundred  Fifty-three 


itniiiMiiiiiiuiiniHHiiiiiiiiniuminiiiniiniiiiiiinninnuiiHuiuiiiiiiiriiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiirHMiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiniinMiiniiiiiiiiiniiiiiiHiMiiiniininMHniniininiiMuiui^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiHuniiuiuiHiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiirHuiiiiniMiiniiiiiiiiiMiiiiniinininiiiiiiinmiiniiiimmiiiiiiiiiiiHniiiiiiiiiiniHiiiniiriiiiiuiniuininHiiniiniiMininiiniiiiiiiiniMiininiHiii^ 

from  Marseilles  for  Port  Said  on  the  P.  and  O.  steamer  Mooltan 
bound  for  India;  a  10,000-ton  ship  on  her  first  voyage. 

The  crew  were  Lascars,  and  so  picturesque!  Bare-footed,  bare- 
armed  with  blue  blouses,  red  turbans  and  rings  in  their  ears. 

Of  the  500  first-class  passengers  a  great  majority  were  Army 
Officers  and  Officials  in  Government  employ,  with  their  families, 
going  back  to  work  after  their  vacation. 

A  passenger  that  attracted  much  attention  was  an  East  Indian 
Prince  dressed  in  white  corded  silk  with  gold  trimming,  always  sur- 
rounded by  a  train  of  attendants. 

The  large  passenger  list  necessitated  the  serving  of  two  dinners. 
The  first  at  six  o'clock  which  we  chose,  the  second,  set  for  seven- 
thirty,  but  the  first  table  consumed  so  much  time  that  it  was  generally 
eight  o'clock  before  the  seats  at  the  second  table  were  filled,  and  a 
beautiful  sight  it  was  to  see  the  English  ladies  in  full  dress,  go  down 
the  companion  way.  We  had  our  regular  places  at  dinner  but  for 
breakfast  and  lunch  sat  wherever  we  liked.  In  that  way  we  met  a 
large  number  of  pleasant  people. 

Going  out  after  dinner  the  third  day  of  our  voyage  we  found 
those  already  on  deck,  looking  intently  at  a  tiny  speck  of  light  near 
the  horizon  and  speculating  what  it  could  be,  as  the  night  was  dark 
without  moon,  or  star.  The  Captain  chanced  to  pass  and  told  us  the 
light  came  from  the  volcano  of  Stromboli  sixty  miles  away.  Our 
cabin  was  on  the  seaward  side  and  we  waited  up  until  near  midnight, 
watching  the  slow  growth  of  the  tiny  speck;  then  abreast  of  the 
volcano  we  saw  the  weird,  awe  inspiring  sight  of  a  broad  stream  of 
molten  lava  flowing  down  the  mountain  side  into  the  sea. 

The  following  afternoon  the  Mooltan  ran  alongside  her  pier  at 
the  entrance  to  the  Suez  Canal  and  we  were  soon  ashore  in  Port  Said 
exploring  the  town. 

The  poor  native  women  of  the  lower  class  were  a  sorry  lot,  in 
coarse,  clumsy  garments,  their  faces  hidden  behind  a  most  hideous 
contrivance.  A  black  band  was  fastened  around  the  forehead,  a 
space  left  for  the  eyes  and  a  narrow,  heavy,  black  veil  held  in  place 
by  a  brass  clamp  fitting  over  the  upper  part  of  the  nose. 

The  native  men  of  the  same  class  wore  long  skirts  of  sleazy 
material  that  flopped  around  their  legs  in  a  most  ungainly  way  when 
they  walked. 

The  only  attractive  things  we  saw  in  the  shop  windows  were 
ostrich  feathers — beauties,  a  half,  to  three-quarters  of  a  yard  in 
length;  price  from  two  to  three  dollars  each. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Fifty-four 


•miniiiniiiiiiniiiiimiiiiiiiMnininniiniiMtniinnininiitiiniiiiiiniiiiniiMiiiniHiiiNiMiimiininiiiniiuiiiiininiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiMiiniiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiniiiiinniiiiiiiiiMiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

•miiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiit iniuiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiii 

"Oh,  I  must  have  a  white  one  and  a  black  one,"  I  exclaimed,  but 
took  your  advice  not  to  buy  until  we  returned  to  Port  Said.  Alas! 
when  we  returned,  our  train  was  late ;  we  were  obliged  to  go  direct  to 
the  steamer  and  I  lost  my  ostrich  feathers. 

We  spent  the  night  at  the  Savoy  Hotel  one  short  block  from 
the  Mooltan's  pier.  The  steamer  was  to  sail  early  next  morning  and 
at  sound  of  her  whistle  we  went  out  on  our  balcony. 

At  Port  Said  ships  and  passengers  for  India  make  preparations 
for  hot  weather  and  the  Mooltan  was  a  very  pretty  sight  as  she 
steamed  away,  bright  awnings  fluttering  in  the  light  breeze  and  the 
decks  thronged  with  men  and  women  in  light  attire.  We  saw  the 
festive  looking  craft  once  again,  when  one  hour  after  leaving  Port 
Said  our  train  overtook  and  passed  her. 

The  six  hours'  journey  to  Cairo  was  full  of  interest.  The  vege- 
tation, the  people,  the  strings  of  camels,  their  heads  outstretched, 
their  backs  loaded,  and  a  Bedouin  perched  on  top  or  walking  along- 
side; and  then,  the  first  dim  sight  of  the  Pyramids — ^what  a  thrill 
they  gave!  and  how  eagerly  we  watched  until  they  became  distinct, 
and  at  the  journey's  end,  our  drive  through  the  crowded,  animated 
streets  to  Shepheards,  that  most  fascinating  of  all  hotels. 

We  fell  easily  into  the  universal  habit  of  taking  a  cab  whenever 
we  left  the  hotel.  In  the  middle  of  the  day  the  heat  was  intense  and 
at  all  hours,  if  we  stepped  outside  the  garden  wall  we  were  complete- 
ly hemmed  in  by  dragomen,  donkey  boys,  venders  of  curios  and 
beggars. 

Our  only  fatiguing  hours  were  those  spent  in  the  wonderful 
Museum,  where  even  the  overmastering  interest  of  the  invaluable 
collection  could  not  ward  off  weariness  of  the  flesh.  As  I  write  these 
hnes  memory  calls  up  the  image  of  a  man  called  "The  Village  Chief;" 
a  statue  carved  in  wood  over  4,000  years  ago.  The  expression  was 
startlingty  lifelike  and  the  eyes  stared  at  us  so  intently  that  the 
figure  drew  us  as  a  magnet  to  look  upon  it  again  and  again,  and  gave 
a  creepy  feeling  that  a  living  human  being  must  dwell  within  that 
wooden  form. 

Across  the  River,  eight  miles  away,  over  a  road  delightfully 
shaded  by  grand,  old  lebbek  trees  to  the  border  of  the  desert,  and 
those  stupendous  Pyramids, 

"That  wedge  like  cleave  the  desert  air," 

we  made  many  excursions.     We  had  no  desire  to  climb  the  sum- 
mits or  to  penetrate  within  the  massive  tombs;  we  were  content 

Page  Two  Hundred  Fifty-five 


ninuiriiinniiiiinninniiiiiMiiiiiirniHiinniiniimiMiiiiirrHniiiiiiiniiiiiiimiiiiiitiiHriiiiiiiiiiiHMniiiimnMinnrnHmiiniiinHiiiiiimiiiiiiiinmiiiiiiMiiiiiiiMinii^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiiiiiiininiininmiiiiiitiiinrniunnnniiiiniiiniiinjiNninriiiiiiniiiiiiiiininiiiiiiiriiiminiiiniiiiiMiiininiiuiiiinniiMiiiuiiniinniiuuiininiiniiiiininiiiiiHiunnn 

to  look  and  to  marvel;  then  on,  three-quarters  of  a  mile  through  the 
desert  sand  to  the  Great  Sphinx  of  Gizeh,  the  guardian  of  Tombs  and 
Temples. 

Hewn  out  of  the  rock,  colossal  in  size,  a  human  head  on  the 
body  of  a  lion,  the  question  of  its  age  a  riddle,  the  inscrutable  Sphinx 
with  a  benign  expression  on  the  damaged,  noseless  face,  the  sad, 
wide-open,  patient  eyes  gazing  dreamily  over  the  shifting  sands,  was 
majestic  in  its  eternal  loneliness! 

Our  feeling  of  awe,  however,  was  quickly  turned  into  vexation 
and  indignation  by  Bedouin  guides,  peddlers,  beggars  and  photog- 
raphers. Of  the  pests  the  photographers  were  the  worst — one  who 
spoke  English  fluently  was  fiendish,  wanting  to  take  our  pictures; 
telling  us  that  we  would  always  be  sorry  if  we  neglected  to  have  our 
photos  taken  mounted  on  camels  with  the  e-ter-nal  Sphinx  in  the 
background.  Over  and  over  again  went  that  maddening  rigmarole. 
The  wretch  had  a  long  pole  with  a  cleft,  in  which  he  placed  pictures 
of  tourists  on  camels  and  thrust  them  before  our  eyes  that  we  might 
see  the  spe-ci-mens  of  his  work. 

When  we  returned  to  the  Pyramids  and  dismounted,  you  said, 
"No  more  dromedary  for  me  unless  I  can  reach  my  seat  and  leave 
it  by  a  ladder,"  and  after  that  you  rode  a  donkey  while  I  stuck  to  the 
"ship  of  the  desert." 

Going  to  the  Citadel — a  huge  fortress  on  a  hill — for  the  lovely 
view  at  sunset  was  always  a  pleasure.  The  slender,  graceful  minarets 
and  sun-lit  domes  of  the  many  hundred  mosques,  groves  and  avenues 
of  delightful  verdure,  the  broad,  shining  River,  the  Pyramids  out- 
lined against  a  violet  sky,  and  beyond,  stretching  on  and  on,  glorilfied 
by  a  marvelous  light,  the  great  Libyan  desert  into  which  the  sun 
seemed  to  sink. 

"A  running  sais  before  a  rapidly  driven  carriage  is  one  of  the 
prettiest  sights  in  Cairo,"  Charles  Dudley  Warner  wrote.  It  was  a 
common  sight  to  us  in  which  we  took  keen  delight.  Driving  in  the 
pleasantly  shaded  Shoobra  Avenue  in  the  afternoon,  or  crossing  the 
great  Nile  bridge  to  the  gardens  of  the  Ghezirah  Palace  we  always 
saw  one  or  two  carriages  preceded  by  a  running  sais.  We  soon  got 
to  know  the  equipage  of  the  Khedive's  household,  of  the  Royal 
harem  with  its  white  veiled  occupants,  that  of  an  English  dignitary 
with  his  three  young  children,  and  every  afternoon  the  American 
Consul  came  for  tea  on  the  terrace  at  Shepheards,  dashing  up  to  the 
entrance  gate  in  a  stylish  cart,  driving  a  splendid  black  horse  and 

Page  Two  Hundred  Fifly-six 


'iiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiniiniiiniiiHnMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinriiiiiiniiiiuiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiniiimiiiiniiiiMriiniiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininniiiiiiniiiiitiiiiiinmiiiniii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

nniHiMJiMniiiMiiuiinHiiiijMiiiHiiiHiuHniiinriiiiNiMiiiiiiiHninnnnininiiniriimiMiuiiiiiniiiiiiinniiininiiniiiinnniiiinuniininniniiiiMuniniiiHiiiuinniiniuiiiiiiiiiunnimniium 

preceded  by  a  running  sais  who  might  have  posed  for  Warner's 
word  picture. 

"A  slender,  handsome  Nubian,  black  as  ebony,  brilliantly  dressed, 
graceful,  running  with  perfect  ease  for  hours.  In  red  tarboosh  with 
long  tassel,  silk  and  gold  embroidered  vest  and  jacket,  colored  girdle 
with  knotted  ends  hanging  at  side,  short  silk  trousers,  bare  legs  and 
long  staff  gold  tipped  in  his  hand;  graceful  as  Antinuous.  A  most 
elegant  appendage  to  a  fashionable  turn  out." 

To  show  how  even  in  Egypt,  customs  change,  while  we  saw 
these  "elegant  appendages"  commonly,  friends  that  visited  Cairo 
two  years  later  rarely  saw  a  running  sais. 

Another  very  pretty  sight  in  Cairo  was  seeing  a  fleet  of  feluccas 
— sail  boats  with  tall,  tapering  masts — collected  in  the  river  waiting 
for  the  draw  of  the  Nile  bridge  to  open;  then  like  birds,  spreading 
their  white  wings  and  going  swiftly  up  the  stream  against  a  strong 
current,  driven  by  the  North  wind  from  the  sea. 

The  terrace  at  Shepheards  was  a  most  fascinating  and  interesting 
place.  Inside  the  gate  dragomen,  black,  white  and  yellow;  some  in 
flowing  trousers,  satin  vests  and  immense  turbans,  snake  charmers, 
fire  eaters,  flower  venders  selling  a  dozen  beautiful  "la  France"  roses 
for  a  coin  equivalent  to  a  nickel,  and  other  flowers  as  cheap. 

Outside  the  gate  more  dragomen — some  in  rags  and  tatters, 
some  gorgeously  clad,  boys  with  small,  close-clipped  white  donkeys 
under  red  saddles,  around  their  necks  strings  of  blue  beads  or  silver 
necklaces,  cabs,  dealers  in  curios  and  relics  calling  out  their  wares  in 
loud  voices,  and  passing  along  the  great  highway  in  a  steady  stream, 
camels  laden  with  building  stone  slung  in  net-work  sacks,  camels  and 
donkeys  laden  with  dates,  poultry  and  all  kinds  of  market  com- 
modities, natives  on  foot  turbanned  and  gowned,  natives  on  donkeys 
with  two  or  three  children  in  front  of  them,  dogs  without  number 
and  curious,  amusing  sights  without  end. 

The  immense  bazaars  were  full  of  tempting  things,  from  beauti- 
ful rugs  and  embroideries  and  rich  stuff's  of  silk  (that  were  sold  by 
weight)  to  the  most  trifling  trinkets  and  slippers  galore,  red  and 
yellow.  At  the  entrance  to  the  bazaars  the  beggars  lay  in  wait; 
they  were  numerous,  persistent  and  repulsive;  none  so  repulsive  as 
the  women  holding  in  their  arms  infants  with  sore  eyes  over  which 
flies  crawled  and  settled.  It  was  the  mother's  fixed  belief  that  the 
flies  averted  the  "evil  eye"  so  she  never  brushed  them  away.  Babies 
that  could  sit  up  were  carried  on  the  mother's  shoulders  astride  but 

Page  Two  Hundred  Fifty-seven 


«iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii MiiiininininiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniiitiiiiiiiimiimiiiiimiHiiiiiiiiiiniiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininiitMniininminntiuiiniiiiiniiiimiintiiiiiinmiHiitiiiuiiiiitiiiin 


MEMORIES 


—       SOME        OF        MANY 

"1IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiu 


IN  CAIRO 


even  they  did  not  put  up  a  fight  against 
the  hungry  flies  that  crawled  around  the 
gummy  eyes. 

On  market  day  "the  Muski,"  the 
chief  thoroughfare  of  Cairo  roofed  over 
with  cane  or  palms,  was  full  of  strange 
sights  and  sounds  and  vivid  color.  Money 
changers  rattling  their  coin,  Bedouins 
from  the  desert,  English  soldiers  in  scar- 
let coats,  fortune  tellers,  water  carriers 
clashing  a  paid  of  cymbals  and  pouring 
water  for  the  thirsty  into  brass  cups  from 
boar  skins  on  their  shoulders,  merchants 
in  Oriental  dress  going  to  their  offices  on 
gaily  caparisoned  donkeys,  men  in  long 
gowns  and  turbans,  loaded  camels,  veiled 

women,  scribes  with  ink-horns  and  pens  of  reed  stuck  in  their  belts, 

and  so  forth,  and  so  forth. 

Many  of  the  Mosques  with  shining  domes  and  tall,  graceful 
minarets  were  very  beautiful.  Tickets  of  admission  were  obtained  at 
trifling  cost  and  away  from  glare  of  sun  and  noise  of  street,  the  cool, 
marble-walled  interiors,  with  beautiful  hanging  lamps  and  often  rich 
rugs  upon  the  floors,  we  found  very  restful.  We  often  planned  to  be 
near  the  Mosques  at  the  set  of  sun — then  we  saw  the  Muezzins  in  the 
minarets  above  and  heard  their  voices  calling  the  faithful  to  prayer; 
and  very  musical  many  voices  were. 

The  immense  court  of  the  University  during  school  hours  was 
remarkable.  Teachers,  and  hundreds  of  Egyptian  boys  sitting  cross- 
legged  on  the  floor,  with  metal  tablets  before  them,  committing  the 
Koran  to  memory,  their  bodies  swaying  back  and  forth,  all  repeating 
the  same  words  over  and  over  again,  producing  a  most  peculiar 
sound. 

We  enjoyed  the  shady  paths  of  the  delightful  Ezbekiyeh  Gar- 
dens where  a  military  band  played  every  afternoon,  and  where  we  saw 
strange  and  interesting  vegetation. 

After  two  very  happy  and  very  busy  weeks  we  took  a  brilliantly 
lighted  corridor  train  for  a  night  journey  to  Luxor.  Our  compart- 
ment was  really  elegant;  in  color  all  white  and  gold,  ^^dth  two  small 
brass  beds,  large  plate  glass  windows  curtained  in  rich  silk,  brass 
racks  of  Oriental  design  for  hand-bags,  and  adjoining  the  compart- 
ment a  washroom. 


Page  Two  Hundred  Fifty-eight 


miniriiiiiiiiiiMiMriiiiiiiiiiiiiniHiniMiuniiMiMiuMiHiniiinHntiiniiniiinniiiiiNnniiiiiiniininiiiniiniiiiiiiininiiniirininiiiiiitiiiniiiiiiiiniiiiMiiHiMniimiimnm^^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

tiiiiiiiHiiiininiinniiniiiMMMiiniMnuniiiiiMniuMiMiMiiiiiinininimniHiiiMiiimiiiiniiiininnNriiniiiniiiiiHininnniiiiniiiinniniiiiiiniiirniiiiiiHiinininiiiiniiiiiniiiH 

The  Luxor  Hotel  was  perfectly  charming.  A  garden  full  of 
blooming  tropical  plants  divided  by  an  avenue  of  splendid  palm  trees 
that  extended  to  the  river  bank  where  a  large  platform  had  been 
built;  and  how  we  did  enjoy  that  platform! 

There  we  sat  and  watched  the  slow-flowing,  dignified  stream  of 
the  Nile  pass  on  its  way ;  there  we  saw  the  sun  go  down  in  gorgeous- 
ness  behind  the  rose-colored,  limestone  mountains  of  the  desert;  there 
we  went  at  night  to  gaze  upon  the  radiant  firmament.  Such  a 
crescent  moon,  such  stars  and  planets  as  gemmed  the  unfathomed 
blue  in  that  clear,  dry  air!  so  large,  so  luminous  and  seeming  so  near! 
how  brilliant,  how  wonderful,  how  glorious  they  were! 

A  stones  throw  from  our  Hotel  was  the  Temple  of  Luxor.  At 
the  magnificent  entrance  one  beautifully  sculptured  monolith  of  red 
granite  eighty  feet  in  height,  and  two  statues  of  twenty-two  feet 
were  still  standing.  The  ruin  was  of  great  dimensions,  many  columns 
erect,  but  all  enjoyment  in  seeing  and  walking  about  was  destroyed 
by  pestering  dragomen. 

Tourist  travel  to  "Upper  Egypt"  was  just  beginning  and  we 
were  surrounded  by  men  clamoring  to  be  employed.  In  self  defense 
you  engaged  one  Abdallah  who  proved  to  be  a  garrulous  old  nuisance 
and  it  took  many  sharp  words  to  make  him  understand  that  we  pre- 
ferred to  take  facts  and  figures  from  Baedeker.  The  only  purpose 
he  served  was  protecting  us  from  other  hungry  dragomen. 

Through  an  avenue,  two  miles  in  length,  lined  on  both  sides  by 
Sphinxes  of  enormous  size  all  badly  mutilated  and  many  headless,  we 
drove  to  Karnak, — to  those  sublime  ruins,  described  by  a  traveller 
and  writer  as:  "The  massive,  extensive,  noble,  beautiful  and  digni- 
fied combination  of  walls,  columns,  sculptures,  symbols  and  architec- 
tural glories  on  the  wretched  plain  of  Karnak!  Temples  and  Palaces 
that  were  neglected  and  decaying  before  Greece  and  Rome  had  been 
moulded  into  nations." 

The  day  after,  by  a  shabby  ferry,  we  crossed  the  Nile,  then  on 
sturdy  little  donkeys  rode  to  the  mountains  bordering  the  Libyan 
desert ;  at  first  through  a  country  where  tall  Indian  corn  was  ripening, 
then  into  a  desolate  valley  on  the  edge  of  the  desert  and  in  the  face  of 
the  limestone  rock  we  came  to  the  Royal  Tombs. 

Those  poor  Kings  of  Egypt,  spending  their  lives  and  their 
money  in  making  splendid  their  last  resting  places;  obscuring  the 
entrance  as  far  as  possible, — swishing  to  lie  forever  "in  seclusion  and 
remote  from  men," — ^by  what  cruel  irony  of  Fate  have  their  Tombs 
become  the  quest  of  the  antiquary  and  the  curious?  and  even  worse, 

Page  Two  Hundred  Fifty-nine 


•immniminimiiMiiiiiminiiiiiniiniiiiiiiiiiniinriuiniiiniiniinirmiimniiiniiiiMiiitniiiiminnirniiiimiinimiiiiiiniiiHiminiiiMiininiiimmMiimnmiitiiiiniiiiiiiiiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

MuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiMiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiun 

when  through  gift  or  purchase,  the  poor,  unoffending  mummies  are 
carried  to  different  parts  of  the  World,  and  become  in  Museums  a 
show  to  be  stared  and  gaped  at.    It  does  seem  cruel! 

We  went  into  several  of  the  Tombs,  the  finest  that  of  Sethos  I, 
discovered  by  Belzoni,  and  named  for  him.  A  hole  in  the  rock  was  all 
we  saw  from  without.  Within,  200  feet  below  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  hewn  from  the  solid  rock,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  mountain — 
all  now  lighted  by  electricity — ia,  series  of  galleries,  large  rooms  and 
passage  ways  one  of  which  led  to  the  spacious,  innermost  chamber; — 
and  there,  lying  in  his  sarcophagus  we  saw  the  mummified  remains 
of  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  Pharaohs,  with  an  incandescent  lamp 
hanging  over  his  face.    It  was  very  interesting  but  inexpressibly  sad ! 

The  Tombs  were  beautifully  decorated  and  adorned  with  sculp- 
ture, the  walls  covered  with  a  profusion  of  paintings  that  in  the  dry 
air  of  Egypt  remained  brilliant  in  color,  and  with  few  exceptions 
fresh  as  the  artist's  hand  had  left  them  thousands  of  years  ago. 

The  pictures  represented  their  occupations  and  associations,  their 
religious,  domestic  and  social  life.  Roasting  meats,  making  pastry, 
drawing  wine,  boating  on  the  Nile;  Gods  and  Goddesses  quaint  and 
angular,  with  heads  of  birds  or  animals,  blue  and  white  water-lilies, 
snakes,  musical  instruments,  and  emblems  of  various  kinds. 

The  next  day  we  crossed  the  river  again  and  on  the  same  little 
donkeys  "Gen.  Grant"  and  "Yankee  Doodle"  visited  some  of  the 
Temples  of  Thebes.  That  of  Rameses  II  with  rows  of  headless 
giant  statues,  the  figures  with  their  folded  arms  full  of  grandeur  and 
mystery;  but  giants  though  they  were  how  dwarfed  they  must  have 
looked  beside  the  polished  granite  statue  of  Rameses  himself — ^now 
overthrown  and  in  fragments — that  erect,  measured  sixty-five  feet  in 
height. 

We  saw  the  vast  ruins  of  "Medeenet  Haboo"  and  in  our  mean- 
dering passed  a  place  where  excavation  was  going  on.  Under  an 
overseer  a  score  of  youths,  loincloths  their  only  covering,  using  their 
hands  for  shovels  were  scooping  up  the  sand  and  carrying  it  a  short 
distance  away. 

In  merciless  heat  from  the  sun  above,  and  the  burning  sand  be- 
neath, those  poor  creatures  were  singing  as  they  worked.  It  was  a 
doleful  little  song  of  only  three  notes  but  how  they  could  do  even 
that  was  a  puzzle  to  me.  You  said  they  were  born  to  the  heat  and 
did  not  mind  it,  but  that  I  could  not  believe. 

One  of  the  boys  followed  us  at  a  distance,  until  we  were  a  long 
way  from  the  excavating  group,  then  he  overtook  us  and  handed 

Page  Two  Hundred  Sixty 


4iiHiiiniiMtitiiiiHHiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiniitiininiiiiininiiinMiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinuiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiininiiiiiMiuniinMiHiiiiintiiiH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

aniMiHiininiiHiiiiiniMiiuniuiinniinninuiMniiiiiiiiiiiiniiHiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiinnniiiiniiiiiiiniiriiNHiiuuiiininiiHiunininnniiiiiiiiiiiirinininiirMniniMiiiiniuiiuiiiiniiiii^ 

something  to  Abdallah — our  garrulous  dragoman.  Abdallah  exam- 
ined it  carefully  then  gave  it  to  you,  saying,  "It  is  a  child's  necklace 
— all  the  poor  Egyptian  children  used  to  wear  such  necklaces  for 
good  luck — cats  are  sacred  animals  and  wearing  little  cats  is  lucky — 
the  boy  found  this  one  while  working  in  the  morning  and  hid  it  in  the 
sand  until  we  came  along — ^I  know  the  boy's  father  and  mother — 
good  people — I  know  the  boy — good  boy — he  wouldn't  tell  a  lie." 

"Do  you  believe  what  Abdallah  says?"  you  asked. 

"Not  one  word,"  I  answered,  "but  the  boy  may  tell  the  truth. 
Why  shouldn't  he  have  found  the  necklace  in  the  sand?" 

I  rather  liked  the  looks  of  the  shabby  little  object  and  you 
bought  it  for  a  trifle.  When  you  laughed  at  me  for  being  credulous, 
I  reminded  you  of  the  old  Roman  coins  you  purchased  at  Paestum, 
and  believed  them  genuine,  until  an  expert  convinced  you  they  were 
worthless.  As  no  expert  ever  passed  upon  my  small,  droll  necklace,  I 
have  always  believed  that  my  "little  cats"  were  worn  thousands  of 
years  ago,  around  the  neck  of  a  child  that  dwelt  in  the  desolate 
"Valley  of  the  Tombs." 

The  statues  of  Memnon,  two  lonely,  solitary  seated  figures  fifty 
feet  in  height  were  very  impressive.  Sadly  mutilated,  the  faces  near 
by  bore  little  semblance  to  mankind,  but  a  little  distance  away  they 
were  the  most  human  and  pathetic  of  objects;  sitting  in  solitude  and 
silence  on  the  desolate,  deserted  Theban  plain,  counting  Time  by 
thousands  of  years  and  looking  wistfully  to  the  East,  the  dawn  and 
the  River  Nile.  For  long,  they  fairly  haunted  me,  those  lonely 
statues  of  Memnon! 

We  spent  a  most  interesting  week  in  and  about  Luxor,  then  took 
a  morning  train  for  Assouan. 

Luxuriant  fields  of  Indian  corn  and  sugar  cane  stretched  along 
the  river  bank  and  other  fields  were  being  prepared  for  planting, — 
one  crop  succeeding  another  in  a  land  where  summer  lasted  through- 
out the  year.  Plowing  was  done  by  camels  or  camels  and  oxen 
yoked  together;  the  plow  was  home  made,  the  plowshare  a  crooked 
stick;  the  plowman  a  funny  looking  object,  his  only  garment  indigo 
blue  trousers  with  legs  about  a  foot  in  length. 

The  heat  was  like  a  furnace,  but  when  we  made  a  long  enough 
stop  at  the  stations  to  see  something  we  were  quickly  out  of  the  car. 
The  villages  were  frequent;  the  houses  dreary,  with  windowless,  sun- 
baked, sun-cracked  mud  walls  and  open  air  courts  that  gave  entrance 
to  two  or  three  dark  rooms.  We  looked  into  several  dirty  courts 
swarming  with  naked  children  and  chickens.    In  one  we  saw  a  picture 

Page  Two  Hundred  Sixty-one 


inniinniiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiMininiHiiiiiiiiiMiniiiiititiiiMiiiinitiiininiiiiiiiiiniiiHMiniiiiiiHiiinuiiiuniiiiniiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiuiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininiiriiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin 


IN  UPPER  EGYPT 


;hat  we  long  remembered — a  very  old  man 
leated  on  a  stool  and  standing  beside  him,  a 
vhite  donkey.  Only  the  graceful,  feathery 
Tonds  of  the  many  luxuriant  date-palm 
rees  saved  the  villages  from  being  perfectly 
lideous. 

The  life  of  the  people  interested  us  im- 
aensely.  To  and  from  the  river  bank  women 
7ent  and  came,  filling  their  jars  and  carrying 
hem  away  on  their  heads.  Nearly  all  wore 
lack  gowns  and  drew  the  skirts  over  their 
aces  when  we  looked  at  them.  A  sad  change 
1  carrying  water  is  going  on.  Instead  of 
tie  picturesque  earthen  jars,  prosaic  tins  that 
ave  held  petroleum  are  often  seen,  the  women 
^rciciiiiig  Liieiii  as  oeing  lighter  in  weight. 

The  poor  women  were  a  forlorn  looking  lot ;  but  not  so  the  men. 
They  wore  light  turbans  and  dark  blue  gowns  that  enveloped  them 
from  head  to  feet.  In  front  of  the  little  cafes  they  congregated, 
drinking  thick  Turkish  coffee  or  sitting  around  a  bubble-bubble  pipe, 
passing  the  mouthpiece  from  hand  to  hand,  each  taking  in  turn  two 
or  three  whiffs. 

But  all  the  men  were  not  idle.  We  saw  them  cultivating  the  soil 
and  working  their  shadoofs  in  comical,  much  abbreviated  blue  trous- 
ers, on  the  river  bank.  What  familiar  objects  those  numberless 
shadoofs  became,  that  watered  the  small  patches  of  land  owned  or 
rented  by  the  poor.  Just  a  pole,  with  a  bucket  on  one  end,  and  a 
lump  of  dried  mud  on  the  other  end,  across  a  horizontal  bar  upheld 
by  two  supports. 

The  owners  of  large  tracts  raised  water  for  irrigation  with  the 
sakia,  a  large  wheel  around  which  buckets  were  attached  that  dipped 
in  the  river  and  emptied  themselves  into  a  distributing  canal.  The 
wheel  was  worked  by  ox  or  buffalo  and  always  creaked  and  cried  and 
groaned  as  though  in  great  distress. 

At  sunset  men  spread  their  mats  and  knelt  to  say  their  evening 
prayer,  bowing  their  heads  to  the  ground.  Before  darkness  fell  the 
palm  tree  groves  became  infrequent,  cultivation  insignificant,  and  the 
valley,  two  narrow  strips  of  sandy  soil  with  the  shining  river  between. 

Arrived  at  Assouan,  we  went  to  the  Cataract  Hotel.    When  the 


Page  Two  Hundred  Sixty-two 


aiininiininniiiiiiMMMrniiiniiiiiiiiinnirMinniiiinniniiiiiiiiiitniniiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniiniiiiniiiHiniiiiiiiniiiiiinninnniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiitiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

nmiiiiiiiiiiiiiini iiiinnMiiiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiiimiiMiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiniiiniiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiminnimiiiiiiiiniMiiiimiiiiiiminiiiiiiiiiiii^  mil 

Manager  looked  at  your  registered  name  and  place  of  residence  he 
remarked,  "San  Francisco  is  a  long  way  from  Assouan." 

You  admitted  that  it  was.  He  may  have  been  sorry  for  us, 
being  so  far  from  home,  and  added,  "If  you  are  only  going  to  make 
a  short  stay  I  can  give  you  the  pleasantest  room  in  the  house." 

You  told  him  we  should  not  remain  beyond  a  week  and  he 
assigned  us  a  room  occupied  every  winter  by  an  English  couple.  It 
was  a  delightful  room  with  an  immense  bay  window,  and  balconj^ 
overhanging  the  river,  giving  us  an  extended  view  of  a  mysterious 
looking  country  and  the  river,  that  there  broadened  out  into  a  sheet 
of  water  embracing  several  small  islands, — all  bathed  in  wonderful 
light  from  the  moon  and  stars. 

Going  out  from  the  hotel  next  morning  we  were  accosted  by  a 
mite  of  a  boy,  who  asked,  "You  want  dragoman?" 

We  looked  at  him,  at  each  other,  and  laughed.  "Me  speakee 
Englis,"  the  mite  continued,  "You  takee  me?" 

He  was  an  engaging  little  creature  with  the  brightest  of  eyes, 
the  whitest  of  teeth  and  the  kinkiest  of  hair.  His  one  garment  was 
white,  sleeveless,  fastened  on  the  left  shoulder  and  fell  to  the  knees, 
leaving  bare  the  well-shaped  limbs.  He  had  four  rings  in  one  of  his 
ears;  one  in  the  lobe,  the  others  in  the  rim  above,  and  several  rings 
upon  his  fingers.  His  name  was  Hassan.  He  said  he  was  seven 
years  old  but  looked  younger.  The  expectant  look  on  his  little  face 
was  irresistible. 

Trying  your  best  to  appear  serious,  you  asked,  "Shall  we  engage 
him?"    When  I  answered  "Yes."    Hassan  was  overjoyed. 

As  we  walked  along,  men  approached  one  after  another  to  offer 
their  services  as  guides,  but  always  Hassan  drew  himself  up  on  tip- 
toes, threw  out  his  little  chest  like  a  pouter  pigeon,  saying,  "Me  drag- 
oman," and  such  was  the  esprit  de  corps  that  every  applicant  smiled 
and  turned  away. 

We  could  never  persuade  Hassan  to  leave  us  until  we  reached 
the  hotel  entrance  and  we  always  found  him  waiting  when  we  went 
out — he  was  like  a  faithful  little  dog.  Where  and  when  he  got  the 
food  that  kept  his  face  and  body  so  well  rounded  was  a  mystery. 

We  could  not  understand  half  that  he  said,  but  he  was  such  a 
cheerful,  laughing,  chattering  little  being  that  I  declared  I  should 
like  to  put  him  in  my  pocket  and  carry  him  away  and  you  wisely 
asked,  what  I  would  do  with  him  when  he  outgrew  my  pocket. 

When  we  met  Hassan  on  the  third  morning  he  had  his  kinky 
hair  loaded  with  cocoa  butter  and  a  wooden  skewer  stuck  through  the 

Page  Two  Hundred  Sixty-three 


MiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiMiiiiiiii iiMiMiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiKiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiimimniinniiiiiiiiiniimiiiiiiiimiiiiiimiiiit 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

*■■ iiiiinmiiiiiiiiMUii itiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiniiiiiiiiiiiiiJiiiiinMiiiniiiiiiiiiinitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiniiniiiiiiiiiniiiiii 

kinks.  He  explained  that  by  working  the  oil  through  his  hair  wdth 
the  stick,  the  kink  would  come  out  and  he  pulled  at  a  lock  to  show  the 
length  of  it. 

Hassan  belonged  to  the  Bischarenes,  a  tribe  of  the  desert  with 
a  large  encampment  a  few  miles  away.  The  men  that  rode  into 
town  on  their  camels,  with  long  spears  in  their  hands  were  striking 
looking  figures.  Their  arms  and  shoulders  were  bare;  their  hair — 
originally  kinky  like  Hassan's — was  plaited  and  hung  in  greasy 
braids  around  their  heads  and  they  wore  many  rings  in  the  rim  of 
one  ear. 

When  the  women  of  the  tribe  came  to  town  they  trudged  on  foot. 
They  wore  their  hair  plaited  in  the  same  greasy  braids,  and  were 
adorned  with  many  rings  in  one  ear,  and  a  ring  in  one  nostril. 

From  Assouan  we  went  to  the  island  of  Philae  to  see  the  beauti- 
ful, elaborate  and  artistic  Temple  of  Isis  and  the  exquisite  little 
structure  known  as  Pharaoh's  Bed, — outlined  against  the  clear,  blue 
sky,  it  was  the  loveliest  thing  we  saw  in  Egypt. 

The  First  Cataract  was  a  disappointment, — a  small  stream  of 
water  flowing  through  a  waste  of  rock.  We  saw  the  ugly  Assouan 
dam  with  yellow,  foaming  water  running  through  the  open  sluices. 
The  -dam  is  without  doubt  a  great  engineering  feat ;  a  towering  wall 
of  concrete  and  granite, — useful  because  it  increases  the  acreage  for 
growing  cotton  and  food  products;  deplorable  because  it  is  only  a 
question  of  time  when  those  priceless  Temples  of  antiquity  must  fall. 
We  were  able  to  walk  about  the  charming  courts,  but  in  the  season  of 
flood  with  the  island  and  all  around  submerged,  the  Temples  rise 
from  a  waste  of  undermining  waters.  In  one  of  the  ancient  quarries 
we  saw  the  great  obelisk  that  in  the  ages  past  was  partly  cut  from  its 
red  granite  bed. 

The  bazaars  at  Assouan,  while  not  so  large  as  those  at  Cairo 
were  far  more  interesting,  for  in  addition  to  everything  found  at 
Cairo,  there  were  baby  crocodiles  caught  above  the  Cataract,  tusks 
and  skins  of  wild  animals;  barbaric  ornaments,  assegais,  dirks  and 
many  other  weapons  of  deadly  aspect. 

We  thoroughly  enjoyed  our  week  at  Assouan,  and  were  sorry  to 
leave  the  well-managed  Cataract  Hotel;  sorry  to  say  good-by  to  our 
dear,  little  dragoman,  but  Hassan's  happy  face  wore  its  perennial 
smile  and  he  did  not  show  the  slightest  regret  at  parting  from  us ;  not 
sorry  to  lose  sight  of  an  eccentric  Englishman  who  for  two  hours 
every  morning,  and  two  hours  every  afternoon  rode  back  and  forth 
on  the  lively,  little  shopping  street,  less  than  half  a  mile  in  length. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Sixty-four 


iittrtntiinMiinniMinnniMHninniiniMiinnMirinnnMirninniiiniiiiiiuiiimiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiniiiinimiiiinnininininmmniiiiHiiniinimiiiiiim^^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

«iiiiniiitHniniiiiMMiuiiiiniiiuMiiiiHiiininiMniinMiiiiiininHiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiniininiiiiinin(ninnniiiiiniiiiiinnHuiuiiiiniMuiinimuiiinuiuiitiinHiiiiiniiuniiiiininiin 

that  led  to  the  bazaar.  He  was  gotten  up  as  though  ready  to  go 
on  an  expedition  across  the  desert  and  was  an  eyesore  to  everybody. 
The  EngHsh  spoke  of  him  as  "that  dreadful  man" — the  Americans 
as  "that  crazy  Englishman";  not  sorry  to  lose  the  "night  watch"  of 
the  hotel.  At  Shepheards'  and  at  Luxor  we  had  frequent  glimpses  of 
the  white  robed  night  attendants  flitting  noiselessly  on  their  slippered 
feet  along  the  passage-ways,  like  specters;  but  at  Assouan  the  five 
in  charge  of  our  floor  gave  me  the  shivers.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
demand  for  their  services.  They  sat  on  a  bench  that  we  had  to  pass 
in  going  to  and  coming  from  our  room,  and  no  matter  how  often  we 
went  back  and  forth,  the  five  white  gowned  figures  would  rise  as  we 
approached  and  stand  like  statues  with  bowed  heads  until  we  passed. 

We  stopped  at  Luxor  and  enjoyed  the  delightful  platform 
hanging  over  the  Nile,  and  went  again  to  see  the  majestic,  sculptured 
Pylon,  and  mighty  columns  of  the  ruined  Temples  and  Palaces  at 
Karnak,  then  returned  to  Cairo. 

After  the  ruins  and  desolation  on  the  wretched,  deserted  plains 
of  "Upper  Egypt"  it  seemed  good  to  be  back  in  the  bustle  and  stir 
and  life  of  Cairo. 

We  had  seen  nothing  more  ancient  than  the  Sphinx  and  Pyra- 
mids but  they  were  not  depressing  and  rather  made  for  cheerfulness. 
True,  the  poor,  old  Sphinx  had  lost  his  nose  and  his  beard,  but  he 
still  wore  a  self-satisfied  smile,  and  while  the  Pyramids  were  not 
all  intact  there  was  nothing  about  them  that  suggested  ruin  and 
decay.  All  through  the  day,  and  by  moonlight  and  starlight  they 
were  a  center  for  animation,  with  tourists  on  foot,  on  donkey,  or 
camel,  hovering  about, — nor  were  the  Tombs  of  the  Mamelukes 
dispiriting  in  any  way. 

Yes !  we  were  glad  to  be  back  in  delightful,  fascinating.  Oriental 
Cairo  where  so  many  scenes  in  the  "Tales  of  the  Arabian  Nights" 
w^ere  laid, — where  we  saw  white-veiled  women  with  sandalled  feet  and 
jewelled  anklets  hurrying  to  catch  a  trolley  car, — to  Cairo,  the  home 
of  the  running  sais,  and  the  "Muski," — glad  to  be  back  to  the  stir  and 
life  of  the  hotel,  the  entertaining  terrace  and  the  evening  hops  where 
girls  in  soft  colored  dancing  gowns,  Turkish  officials  in  evening  dress 
and  becoming  fez,  and  English  officers  from  the  garrison  in  hand- 
some uniforms  were  always  in  evidence. 

We  did  not  willingly  leave  Cairo,  but  Cairo  was  too  expensive- 
for  us,  and  after  a  weeks  further  stay  we  said  good-by  to  its  allure- 
ments. 

As  we  had  eagerly  watched  the  Pyramids  increase  in  size,  from 

Page  Two  Hundred  Sixty-live 


•HiHniniiiiiiniiiiuiiiiiiniiiiniiniiiiuMiiiiiiiiniiiiiMiiniiiiitiintiiiuiiiiiiNiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiituiniiiiiiiiiiniiiiuiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiHiH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiimniiiiniinmiiiiiiiiiiinMUiinmiiHiiiiiiniiiniitiiiniiiiiiiriiimiiiliiiiiiliiiiillillliiHiniiiiinninuimrnniiinninMHiiiiiMniinnniiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiMniinHi^ 


MAJESTIC  SCULPTURED  PYLON  AT  KARNAK 


Page  Two  Hundred  Sixty  six 


iintriiiitiiniinMriininniiiriiiiiiiiiinnHnnMinitniiiiiiriiiiiinriiinuniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiMniiHiiiniiniiiniiiiiiiriiiiiiiniiiniiiiininiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiinitn 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiniiiiimiiiiniininMntnJuiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiimHiimmiiimiiniiiiiiiMiniiiiiiiiiiiiiniuiiiiinniitiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiii^ 

the  moment  we  saw  them  dimly  outlined  on  the  horizon,  so  now  we 
regretfully  watched  them  diminish  until  they  faded  from  our  sight. 
Soon  the  wonderland  of  Egypt,  the  strange,  weird,  mysterious  land 
would  lie  behind  us,  and  be  only  a  memory.  The  land  of  the 
Pharaohs,  and  ruins  of  their  vast,  splendid  Temples  and  Palaces  on 
deserted  plains;  the  painted  and  sculptured  Tombs  in  the  desolate 
valley;  the  land  watered  by  the  grand  old  River  Nile;  the  land  of 
Sphinx  and  Pyramid  on  desert  sand;  the  land  where  many  Bible 
scenes  were  laid.  All  would  lie  behind  us,  "that  heritage  from  the 
dawn  of  the  ages;"  but  ever  with  us,  a  rich  and  lasting  memory  that 
we  were  glad  and  thankful  to  have  and  to  hold. 

We  had  an  uneventful  voyage  to  Marseilles.  We  passed  Strom- 
boli  in  daylight  and  the  lava  rolling  down  its  scarred  side  was  inky 
black.  We  reached  our  old  quarters  in  Nice  January  3,  1906.  The 
house  colony  welcomed  us  warmly  and  were  glad  to  see  us  in  their 
midst.  We  felt  rather  conscience  stricken  not  to  be  equally  glad, 
For  some  little  time  the  spell  of  Egypt  was  upon  us,  then  we  took  up 
the  old  life  and  were  happy  and  contented. 

In  April  we  were  in  Venice  and  read  in  the  evening  paper — 
The  Secolo — that  San  Francisco  had  been  destroyed  by  an  earth- 
quake, and  that  10,000  people  were  buried  beneath  the  ruins.  Oh! 
the  untold  apprehension  and  anxiety  that  little  paragraph  gave  us! 
The  next  day  the  exaggerated  report  of  loss  of  life  was  corrected  and 
from  then  on,  statements  of  the  Venice  papers  were  verified  later  by 
news  from  London.  We  knew  when  the  Palace  Hotel  was  burning, 
— when  the  flames  reached  Noh  Hill  and  where  the  houses  were  being 
dynamited  to  check  the  conflagration. 

In  London,  we  waited  for  news  direct,  and  how  glad  and  thank- 
ful we  were  for  letters  telling  that  all  our  friends  were  safe,  though 
many  had  suff*ered  grevious  loss.  With  minds  relieved,  we  gave 
ourselves  up  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  London  and  its  environs  at  that 
most  delightful  season  of  the  year. 

At  Covent  Garden  Opera  House  May  fifteenth  we  heard  Caruso 
in  Rigoletto.  It  was  his  first  appearance  in  Opera  since  his  earth- 
quake experience  in  San  Francisco.  He  was  given  a  tremendous  ova- 
tion to  which  he  seemed  unpleasantly  indifferent.  Later  we  heard 
Caruso  in  The  Meister  Singer  of  Nuremberg. 

At  one  of  the  Theaters  we  saw  a  play  of  Pinero  with  our  old- 
time  favorite  of  the  California  Theater,  Bella  Pateman,  in  the  cast; 
and  we  saw  the  pretty  ballet  of  Cappelia  danced  to  the  lovely  music 
of  Delibe.     At  Olympia  (that  vast  show  place)   the  attraction  was 

Page  Two  Hundred  Sixty-seven 


•Ill" i">""">>"i'MiiiiniiHiniMiiiiiinMi[ininniiiinimiiniiiiiiiiiiiimimiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniininiiiinmiinniiiiHiiinuniiinniinnniMitiuiiniiiiiiiimHiuiiniuiiii^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF       MANY 

aimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiuHniiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiumiinmimiiiiiiiniinuinuniiiiimimiuiniiiiHuiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiu 

"Tilting  in  Tudor  Times,"  and  at  the  Alhambra  they  were  showing  a 
fihn,  advertised  in  big  letters  all  over  the  city,  "The  Destruction  of 
San  Francisco  by  Earthquake  and  Fire."    That  we  did  not  see. 

Through  the  courtesy  of  a  gentleman  to  whom  we  had  carried  a 
letter  of  introduction  from  a  San  Francisco  friend,  we  made  several 
visits  to  Ranelagh,  a  delightful  park  (with  splendid  trees  and  a  little 
stream  crossed  by  rustic  bridges)  on  the  outskirts  of  the  City,  in  con- 
trol of  an  exclusive  club.  There  we  saw  that  most  delightful  of 
games,  polo,  played  by  experts;  such  spirited  and  exciting  games! 
and  the  ponies,  those  dear,  little  polo  ponies !  every  one  seemed  imbued 
with  all  the  fire  and  spirit  and  wisdom  of  the  polo  pony  Kipling 
wrote  about. 

When  the  games  were  over  it  was  time  for  tea;  then  around  the 
tables  on  the  porches  of  the  clubhouse  and  under  the  trees  merry 
parties  assembled.  The  waiters  wore  long  scarlet  coats — not  jackets 
— and  moving  about,  among  the  guests  "star-scattered  on  the  grass," 
added  to  the  brightness  of  a  scene  that  was  ideal  in  its  beauty. 

We  went  to  all  the  charming,  blooming  suburbs  and  on  the  fifth 
of  June  sailed  from  Liverpool  on  the  S.  S.  Caronia  for  New  York. 
It  was  near  the  end  of  January,  1907,  before  we  reached  poor,  dear, 
stricken,  pitiful  San  Francisco.  The  vast  area  of  ruin  was  such  a 
sad,  distressing  spectacle  that  early  in  May  we  said  good-by  to  the 
dear  friends  who  had  given  us  a  warm  welcome  and  went  to  our  old 
home  in  Central  New  York  for  the  summer;  to  the  City  until  Janu- 
ary, 1908;  to  Southern  California  and  in  March  back  to  San  Fran- 
cisco. 

As  we  passed  through  the  Santa  Clara  Valley  the  country  looked 
so  beautiful  with  wild  flowers  on  the  railroad  banks  and  the  earliest 
fruit  blossoms  coming  out,  that  we  could  not  keep  it  from  our  minds, 
and  after  a  few  days  spent  in  seeing  friends  we  went  to  San  Jose. 
From  the  Vendome  Hotel  day  after  day  we  took  the  interurban  cars 
to  reach  the  blooming  orchards.  Sometimes  we  went  beyond  the 
orchards  to  fields  that  were  a  glory  of  blue  and  gold — lupins  and 
poppies  springing  from  the  luxuriant  grass  made  a  picture  that  on 
canvas  would  have  been  called  an  artist's  license. 

One  Spring  we  determined  to  follow  the  blossoming  fruit  trees. 
We  commenced  in  March  with  the  South  of  France  and  finished  with 
the  apple  orchards  of  Kent — the  garden  of  England — at  the  end  of 
May,  but  we  saw  nothing  that  for  variety  and  beauty  compared  with 
the  Santa  Clara  Valley. 

We  spent  many  delightful  weeks  that  summer  in  the  Yosemite 

Page  Two  Hundred  Sixty-eight 


wiHMHinMiMiiuiiiiiiiiiiniiiinnMnirMninnnriiiiiiniiMrMniiiiriiiiiiniiimimtiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiuniniiiiiniiiMtiinnnirMniiiiiiiimiiiiiimimiiimim 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

HuiiiiiiiinirniiiinniiiuiiiiHiiiiiiniiiiniiiininiiniuitHniiiiniiiuuinininiiiiiiiiitiininiMiiiiiiniiiiinniiiiiiiiiiiiniininiiiiiniiiiininiininiiMuiiiiiniiiiriiiiiiiiiMniiinMin 

Valley  at  the  plain,  comfortable  Sentinel  Hotel.  It  gives  me  pleasure 
to  remember  there  were  no  automobiles,  no  string  of  electric  lights  on 
the  Valley  road,  and  no  lift  planned  to  carry  the  self-indulgent 
tourist  to  Glacier  Point.  Only  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  Nature 
coupled  with  the  simple  life ! 

We  talked  of  previous  visits  and  of  that  one  ante-dating  by  a 
little  all  that  I  have  recorded ;  how  we  went  to  Stockton  by  boat  and 
from  Stockton  to  Mariposa  by  stage  coach  and  what  a  dreadful  ride 
it  was !  Chinamen  made  the  inside  of  the  coach  impossible  and  I  sat 
on  top  with  you  and  two  other  gentlemen  of  our  party.  The  heat  was 
torrid.  At  places  where  we  stopped  to  change  or  water  the  poor 
horses,  and  where  we  had  our  dinner  thermometers  registered  100 
degrees  in  the  shade. 

A  friend  of  yours  in  charge  of  the  Gen.  Fremont  mines  was  wait- 
ing^ the  arrival  of  the  stage.  He  took  us  to  his  pretty  home  where 
we  were  hospitably  welcomed.  There  in  a  darkened  room  I  lay  the 
following  day  recovering  from  heat  prostration,  and  the  kindness, 
the  more  than  kindness!  of  that  dear  family  to  me,  neither  of  us 
ever  forgot. 

On  the  second  day  although  I  felt  badly,  and  we  were  urged  to 
take  a  longer  rest,  we  started  on  horseback  for  the  Valley,  and  what 
a  rare  day  we  had!  Invigorating  air,  the  freshness  of  the  mountains 
in  June  and  the  bloom  of  flowers!  Lilies  were  in  their  glory!  the 
Mariposa  in  great  variety  of  color,  tall,  fragrant  Easter  lilies,  tiger 
lilies,  clumps  of  wild  roses,  a  very  carpet  of  modest  flowers  over  all 
the  ground,  and  then  the  Valley !  The  beautiful,  wonderful,  glorious 
Valley! 

The  Inn  was  kept  by  one  Leidig.  It  consisted  of  two  buildings, 
one  containing  four  square  rooms  of  equal  size  for  guests;  the  par- 
titions between  the  rooms  were  about  seven  feet  in  height;  the  space 
from  the  floor  to  the  pointed  roof  considerable.  The  dining  room  and 
kitchen  were  in  another  building.  The  table  was  bountifully  supplied 
with  trout  and  venison.  We  spent  a  week  in  the  Valley  going  every- 
where on  horseback.  There  had  been  much  snow  the  previous  winter 
and  the  falls  were  magnificent,  but  getting  our  horses  across  the 
swollen  streams  was  often  difficult,  often  hazardous.  On  our  return 
to  Mariposa  our  party  broke  up,  as  we  spent  several  days  with  our 
kind  friends. 

We  had  a  very  happy  winter.  We  found  the  Fairmont  Hotel  a 
pleasant  place  in  which  to  live.  Our  friends  had  recovered  from  the 
shock  and  strain  of  the  disaster  and  were  all  in  good  spirits,  full  of 

Page  Two  Hundred  Sixty-nine 


mininiiiininiimmnniiniiinitiiiiininiinnMniiiiiinininiinnnniMiiiiiiiiiiimmiiiinniMiiininiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiMiMiiinininiiMniiiHniiiinMuniiniiniuMniniiiMiHiiHniiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

aiuiiimiiiiniiiiiiiiiiriiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininiiniiMinniniiiininiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiMimiiiiiiiiiNiiiininiinMniiniiiiiMnninnunniiiiinninnii^ 

hope  and  an  abiding  faith  in  the  future  greatness  of  San  Francisco. 
They  were  wonderfully  brave!  No  one  complained  or  drew  com- 
parisons between  then  and  now.  Many  had  lost  beautiful  homes  and 
the  elegant,  cherished  contents,  entirely  or  in  part,  but  they  re- 
adjusted their  lives  cheerfully  no  matter  how  plain  the  surroundings. 

April  19,  1909,  we  left  San  Francisco  for  the  East,  stopping  for 
several  days  in  Washington.  The  country  about,  and  the  Capital 
were  in  the  beautiful  flush  of  Spring.  San  Francisco  friends  in 
Army  official  life  stationed  there,  made  our  visit  a  delight  to  remem- 
ber. 

Summer  in  the  old  home  and  October  twenty-first  we  sailed  from 
New  York  on  S.  S.  Carpathia  for  Fiume,  the  principal  port  of 
Hungary.  The  sea  was  kind  and  with  your  happy  faculty  of  making 
friends,  our  little  coterie  was  soon  formed.  The  late  Bishop  of  Mary- 
land, Bishop  Paret  residing  in  Baltimore,  a  delightful  man  with  a 
delightful  family  were  among  those  we  most  enjoyed. 

We  lost  a  few  passengers  at  Gibraltar,  many  at  Genoa  and  at 
Naples  all  but  a  few  who  were  residents  of  Trieste.  It  was  midnight 
before  we  got  away  from  Naples.  We  passed  Stromboli  next  morn- 
ing and  in  the  afternoon  went  through  the  Straits  of  Messina.  A 
sad  sight  it  was,  with  the  ruins  of  Calabrian  towns  on  one  side,  and 
the  ruins  of  Messina  on  the  other,  all  destroyed  by  the  earthquake  of 
the  previous  year. 

Going  up  the  Adriatic  we  had  a  taste  of  the  disagreeable  bora. 
A  cold,  piercing,  violent  North  wind  that  was  just  calming  down. 

We  were  more  than  glad  to  put  our  feet  on  terra  firma  when  we 
reached  Trieste,  but  did  not  get  beyond  the  first  cafe  and  tempting 
little  table  on  the  sidewalk.  Oh!  those  delicious  Austrian  rolls  and 
sweet  butter!  and  the  coffee!  No,  it  wasn't  coffee  we  decided.  It 
was  nectar,  and  sipping  our  nectar  we  watched  the  people  passing  on 
the  street.  Greeks  in  short,  full,  white  tunics  and  gold  embroidered 
jackets,  picturesque  Dalmatians,  Turks,  Armenians  and  Italians. 

"Pleasant  and  interesting  but  not  seeing  the  City,"  you  said, 
"and  we  are  the  slaves  of  duty,"  so  off  we  started. 

One  of  the  first  things  we  noticed  were  the  iron  posts  a  Trieste 
merchant  had  told  us  of.  We  found  them  on  streets  leading  from 
the  water  and  exposed  to  the  wind.  Iron  posts  with  rings  at  the  top 
through  which  ropes  were  threaded  for  people  to  cling  to  when  the 
bora  blows  its  worst.  The  dreadful  bora!  from  the  Karst  mountains, 
that  tears  the  ships  from  their  moorings  and  lifts  the  people  from 
their   feet.     It  had  practically  blown  itself  out  but  the   Captain 

Page  Two  Hundred  Seventy 


«iiiriiniiiiiiiiunitMiiiniiiiiiiriiiiiiniiniiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiniiiiuiininitiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

wimiiiiiiniiiiiiiimiiiiinniinnuiHiniiiiiiiiiiiniiiiininiuiHiiiiuiiniiiiiiunHiiiiiiiiiunininiiuciniMiuimiminiiiiiiiiiinuiuiiuiniiiiiMiHiiiiiiiiiiiu^ 

fastened  the  Carpathia  to  the  wharf  by  strong  chains  and  had  the 
anchor  dropped. 

The  streets  of  old  Trieste  were  steep  and  narrow.  One  led  to  a 
fortified  Castle  and  the  Cathedral.  We  were  told  the  Cathedral  was 
fine  and  the  view  from  it  grand;  but  the  name  of  the  street,  "The 
Steps  of  the  Giants,"  discouraged  us. 

The  new  part  of  the  City  was  attractive  with  promenades, 
statues,  fountains  and  beautiful  public  buildings  noticeably  the  Ex- 
change and  Chamber  of  Commerce.  The  Austrian  Lloyd  S.  S.  offices 
were  quite  palatial  and  directly  opposite  on  a  handsome  square,  the 
Town  Hall,  and  the  palace  of  Prince  Hohenlohe,  the  Stadtholder  of 
the  province. 

There  was  a  picturesque  canal  that  reminded  us  delightfully  of 
the  Grand  Canal  in  Venice ;  narrower,  well  built  on  both  sides,  full  of 
barges  and  boats  with  bright-colored  lateen  sails  it  was  very  ani- 
mated and  very  Venetian. 

Dinner  time  brought  a  problem.  Should  we  go  back  to  the 
Steamer;  to  the  "banquet  hall  deserted"  or  dine  ashore.  What  we 
did  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  We  had  a  fine  dinner  at  a  handsome 
restaurant  and  promised  ourselves  that  we  would  save  the  cost  if  it  in 
some  other  way — at  least  I  said  we  would.  When  at  ten  o'clock  we 
returned  to  the  Carpathia  the  brilliantly  lighted  streets  were  full  of 
life,  and  thronged  with  a  population  that  looked  even  more  Oriental 
than  by  day. 

The  next  morning  we  took  a  small  steamer  for  Miramar,  the 
beautiful  chateau  of  the  Archduke  Maximilian,  a  most  delightful 
place  standing  upon  a  high,  rocky  bluff,  surrounded  by  a  lovely  park 
with  glorious  views  in  every  direction. 

The  spacious  rooms  in  the  white  marble  palace  were  richly  fur- 
nished and  full  of  art  treasures.  Two  rooms  were  unique.  An  im- 
mense structure  of  glass  in  which  hundreds  of  gold  fish  were  swim- 
ming about  in  clear  water,  among  tufts  of  soft,  pretty  grasses  formed 
the  center  of  the  ceiling  in  one  room.  In  the  room  above,  the  pretty, 
airy,  indoor  pool  was  surrounded  by  an  elegant  railing  of  chiselled 
bronze.  The  unusual  and  artistic  creation  being — we  were  told — a 
fancy  of  the  unfortunate  Empress  Carlotta. 

The  gardens  and  park  were  a  dream  of  beauty.  Flowers,  tall, 
dark  cypress  trees,  long  shady  avenues  and  leafy  bowers  where  we 
sat  and  watched  the  little  boats  with  orange-colored  sails  skimming 
over  the  blue  waters  of  the  Bay. 

From  that  ideally  beautiful  home  the  ill-starred  Maximilian, 

Page  Two  Hundred  Seventy-one 


iinriiniiMiiMitriniuitriinrniniiiiiiiMiMiiiiMiinHininimiiiMimiiirrimiiiirninimuMinmnniniiiniiiiininiinimnniiiunmnniiniiiiiiiiniitHiiiinniimmnimiinM 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

>nmtHtiiiniiiiiHjiiiiiiniiiiinuiiiHnMiiiniiiMiiininiiiMiMiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiinniiinriiiiniiiiiiiinniiiinnMinniiiiinHiiniiniiiiiniinininninHiiinNiniiiniiiiinniiniinniiiniinMui 

"lured  by  the  glitter  of  a  phantom  crown,"  went  to  Mexico  to  meet 
his  tragic  fate,  while  his  poor,  demented  wife  lives  on,  waiting  and 
watching  for  her  loved  ones  return. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  the  only  first-class  passengers  on  the  ship, 
we  went  to  Fiume  fifty  miles  away.  There,  november  tenth,  we  said 
good-by  to  the  Carpathia  and  were  glad  to  exchange  our  cabin  for 
the  spacious  room  given  us  at  the  excellent  Grand  Hotel  de'l  Europe. 

Like  all  Continental  cities  Fiume  had  an  old  quarter  with 
narrow,  crooked  streets  of  unequal  width;  it  had  also  an  Arco 
Romano,  an  indifferent  triumphal  arch  of  Claudius  II.  The  new 
part  of  the  city  stretching  along  the  waterfront  was  well  built  and 
attractive.  All  the  population  seemed  to  be  taking  tea  or  coffee; 
little  tables  had  possession  of  the  sidewalks  and  on  nearly  every  block 
we  were  turned  into  the  roadway.  By  chance  we  strolled  towards  the 
waterfront  teeming  with  sailors  and  picturesque  fishermen  with  bare, 
brown  legs,  crimson  sashes  so  wide  that  they  looked  like  waist-coats, 
and  knitted  crimson  caps,  fully  half  a  yard  in  length,  finished  with 
tassel. 

We  noticed  an  immense,  barn-like  structure  and  inquiring 
learned  that  it  was  a  Hotel  for  emigrants.  Fiume  was  the  great 
shipping  port  for  emigrants  from  S.  E.  Europe  to  the  United  States, 
and  the  building,  with  room  for  3,000  people,  was  erected  for  their 
accommodation. 

During  the  afternoon  we  saw  a  group  of  Croatian  peasant 
women  in  short,  full,  pleated  skirts  of  snow-white  linen,  embroidered 
bodices  of  black  velvet  and  red  or  orange-colored  handkerchiefs  on 
their  heads ;  for  picturesqueness  dividing  honors  with  the  fishermen. 

The  Hotel  dining  room  that  evening  presented  a  bright  picture. 
A  large  party  of  "Young  Turks"  with  fezzed  heads  that  were  in 
constant  motion  quite  filled  a  long  table.  They  were  a  noisy  lot, 
talking  in  tones  so  loud  that  they  drowned  the  music  of  a  fine  Hun- 
garian band.  Later  in  the  evening  the  same  band  played  in  the 
Piazza  Dante  where  we  enjoyed,  with  all  Fiume,  the  promenade  con- 
cent. 

After  breakfast  next  morning  you  gave  me  a  choice  between 
going  up  a  high  hill  to  the  Pilgrimage  Church  for  a  view,  or  taking 
a  boat  to  the  pleasure  resort  of  Abbazia.  I  chose  Abbazia  and  there 
we  went.  A  pretty  spot  but  the  delight  of  the  place  to  us  was  in  the 
avenues  and  groves  of  Arbutus  unedo  trees,  with  clusters  of  large,  red 
berries  covered  with  delicate  frost-work  hanging  amid  the  rich  foliage. 
Only  at  the  Lakes  of  Killarney,  in  that  visit  of  long  ago,  had  we 
seen  such  magnificent  specimens  of  that  delightful  tree. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Seventy-two 


miiiiniiiuriniiiMiniiniMnriMninitniMiiiMiMiiiiiiMinriiniiiinnrmiiiMirniiiHimimniiiinnniNinnitiiininiirnnininiiMiiiiriiiininiitiiiiinniiitiimiiminiiMHiitiiniiriiniiMMiiiHim^^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

'iiiniiiiiiimiiiiiiiii itniiiiniiiiiiiHiiinuininiiiiiinniiiniiuiimiiiiiiiiiiinnmiinmiiuiiniiiniMnHniiiiiiiiiiMnniininmHinniiiiiiiiiiiiinininmiiiiiiuiiiiiiniiiiiiiiinniiiiHim 

In  the  afternoon  we  went  through  the  Government  tobacco 
manufactory  where  3,000  women  and  girls  were  at  work.  A  scant 
dower  of  beauty  and  no  picturesqueness  did  we  see  among  them. 

From  Fiume  we  returned  to  Trieste,  then  went  to  Venice.  It 
was  cold  in  Venice  with  a  cutting  wind  that  seemed  to  blow  from 
every  quarter.  Our  hotel  was  opposite  the  handsome  Church  de  la 
Salute  and  our  windows  looked  on  the  Grand  Canal. 

One  day  we  saw  a  wedding  party  go  and  come  from  the  Church. 
The  gondolas,  with  the  bride  in  white  and  many  bridesmaids  looked 
very  pretty.  Another  day  a  religious  ceremony  with  a  long  proces- 
sion of  gondolas  interested  us,  but  we  were  not  in  Venice  to  lead  an 
indoor  life.  The  wintry  wind  did  not  abate;  the  streets  and  canals 
were  equally  uncomfortable  and  we  went  to  Florence;  we  went  from 
bad  to  worse ;  to  rain  and  an  icy  wind  that  cut  like  a  knife  and  we 
both  fell  sick  with  colds,  so  the  last  month  of  the  old  year  was  not  a 
happy  one  for  us. 

January  3,  1910,  we  returned  to  Nice,  glad  to  be  again  in  the 
familiar  surroundings  and  with  the  friendly,  familiar  set. 

The  first  of  May  we  were  on  the  Lake  of  Como.  The  flowers 
were  gorgeous  but  the  weather  was  too  cold  for  the  nightingales.  In 
sheltered  places  from  the  thickest  foHage  of  trees  and  shrubs  we 
heard  their  sweet,  mournful  notes. 

We  spent  some  time  in  Geneva  and  about  the  Lake.  At  Lau- 
sanne we  heard  a  concert  that  we  enjoyed  immensely.  A  "Cantique 
Suisse"  by  cornet  and  a  large  number  of  hoiiM."   Very  inspirating ! 

In  June  we  were  in  London.  We  heard  Aida  and  Traviata  by 
the  song  birds  that  had  come  from  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House  in 
New  York  for  the  London  season ;  we  saw  the  Russian  dancers,  Anna 
Pavlova  and  Mordkin,  repeatedly — being  something  new  they  were 
quite  the  vogue.  Two  afternoons  we  went  to  Ranelagh  and  saw  the 
Etonians  and  Cantabs  defeat  their  opponents  in  madly  exciting 
games  of  polo,  then  had  tea  under  the  trees  with  our  delightful  host. 
We  went  up  the  Thames  by  boat  to  Oxford,  and  by  tally-ho  coach 
through  the  Shakespeare  country,  then  back  to  the  Continent. 

We  drank  the  waters  at  Carlsbad  for  two  weeks  then  went  by 
way  of  Pilsner  and  Budweis — what  beery  sounding  names — to  Linz, 
a  very  attractive  place  on  the  glittering  Danube,  its  domes  and  spires 
gleaming  amid  the  foliage  of  dark  fir  trees.  A  cog  wheel  road  car- 
ried us  to  the  summit  of  the  Postlingberg  2,000  feet  above  the  town 
from  where  we  had  a  glorious  view. 

From  Linz  we  went  to  Gmunden.  We  were  now  in  a  province 
of  Austria  we  had  long  wished  to  see. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Seventy-three 


tiiiiimiMiitiiHiiiiiiiiniiniiiniiitiiiiiiMiiiiii niiniiniiMiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMimitninimiiiiiiiiiiiimiiitimiiriinuiiiiiiiiiiiiMiinniiiiiiiininiminiintninninnniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinimiiiMHiiM 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiitiiiitiniiitiiiiiiMniiiMniniiiiiiMniiiiMiiuinuiiiMniniiiiiHiMiiiimniiiiimiiiiintiimmiiMMiiiiuuininiinMtiinnniiniiiniiininiiiniciiiniiiminininininiiiMHHnn 

The  Salzkammergut,  a  lovely  country  with  a  curious  name — 
growing  out  of  the  salt  industry — a  country  of  mountains  and  lakes, 
upland  meadows  and  valleys,  quaint  villages  and  picturesque  people. 
Gmunden  you  declared  the  loveliest  spot  you  had  ever  seen,  and 
the  Traunsee  was  a  delightful  lake,  the  waters  a  wonderful  blue, 
hemmed  in  by  masses  of  mountains,  the  loftiest  directly  opposite, 
6,000  feet  in  height. 

On  the  lake  shore  an  esplanade,  with  splendid,  old  plane  trees 
the  leafy  branches  so  interlaced  overhead  that  they  made  a  shelter 
"impervious  to  sun  and  rain,"  and  on  the  lake,  row  boats,  little  white- 
sailed  pleasure  boats,  large  fishing  boats  with  yellow  sails,  small  lake 
steamers  and  near  the  shore  in  and  out  among  the  boats  swans 
gliding  about. 

And  what  charming  walks  we  had  down  the  valley  of  the  river 
Traun ;  the  turbulent  little  river  that  leaves  the  lake  at  Gmunden  and 
brawls  on  its  way  to  join  the  Danube;  tiny  waterfalls  singing  down 
the  mossy  banks,  and  cyclamen  in  every  shade  of  red  growing  in  wild 
profusion.  Pretty  villas  made  the  stream  sociable  and  at  the  waters 
edge  every  villa  had  a  little  summer  house,  where  the  maids  did  the 
family  wash.  They  seemed  very  happy,  kneeling  at  their  work  and 
exchanging  talk  with  neighbors  on  either  side. 

The  little  town  was  full  of  life.  Every  day  seemed  a  fete  or 
Saints'  day  and  the  village  working  people  and  the  picturesque 
peasants  from  the  country  around  were  a  lively,  jovial  lot.  Singing 
at  their  work,  dancing  through  the  streets  and  congregating  in  the 
evening  in  a  large,  plain  hall  to  end  the  day  with  merrymaking.  A 
song  and  dance  combined  that  they  gave  with  vim  and  abandon,  we 
particularly  enjoyed. 

From  Gmunden  we  crossed  the  lake  to  Ischl,  a  favorite  summer 
home  of  the  late  Kaiser  Franz  Joseph ;  another  lovely  place ;  adorned 
by  the  Emperor's  palace,  villas  of  the  Austrian  nobility,  handsome 
hotels  and  curhaus — with  orchestras  and  theatrical  companies  from 
Vienna,  and  elegant  bathing  and  inhalation  establishments  for  those 
taking  the  cure.  Ischl  was  a  very  center  of  fashionable  life;  into  it, 
the  prosperous  peasants  of  the  district  came,  and  with  song  and  dance 
and  bright,  fresh  costumes  added  much  to  the  charm  of  the  place. 

From  Ischl  we  went  to  the  Haltstatter  See — one  of  a  group  of 
eight  lakes  lying  close  together — to  see  the  famous  old  town  of 
Hallstatt  built  on  a  steep  hillside.  The  houses  perched  one  above  an- 
other had  broad  balconies  and  overhanging  roofs  of  black  or  red,  and 
on  the  narrow  strip  of  land  projecting  in  the  lake  two  little  churches 

Page  Two  Hundred  Seventy-f<mr 


umwrimiMJUiMnMiniiiiininiininMiHiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiNiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii niiuiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiimiiiininiiiiiHimit 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

mHuuiMiHuiiniiuiiiniuiininiiiiiiMHiiMniiNnMinuiuiinimtumiiiiiiuiuiiuiiiiiiiiiniiniiiiiuMiniiiniMiiiiUHniiiuiniiHinininiiiiminMiininunniinininiHiiiiiiiiium^ 

with  tall,  slender  spires  making  altogether  the  quaintest  and  most 
picturesque  of  villages. 

Then  on  to  the  market  town  of  St.  Wolfgang.  It  was  Saturday 
— Market  day — and  very  interesting.  All  kinds  of  farm  produce, 
with  fruit  and  vegetables,  cows,  horses,  oxen,  pigs  and  poultry  bought 
and  sold  by  men  and  women  in  the  picturesque  dress  of  their  locality ; 
and  at  night  there  was  a  very  revelry  of  song  and  dance. 

The  next  morning  by  a  rack-and-pinion  road  we  went  up  the 
Schafberg,  6,000  feet  in  height.  It  was  a  wonderful  road  that  in 
places  made  me  hold  my  breath  through  fear.  Running  at  first 
through  fields  of  grain  and  fruit  orchards,  then  dark  fir  trees,  and  at 
the  top,  with  no  vegetation  we  were  in  the  midst  of  snow,  and  a 
glorious  panorama  before  us ;  so  many  lovely  blue  lakes,  such  verdant 
valleys,  such  dark  forests  of  fir  and  glittering,  snow-clad  mountain 
peaks,  with  the  summit  of  the  Schafberg  mirrored  in  three  lakes. 
How  glorious  it  was ! 

We  went  across  the  beautiful  lake  to  St.  Gilgen,  a  queer  little 
place  that  Longfellow  mentions  in  Hyperion;  we  found  the  small 
chapel  he  described,  "the  walls  covered  with  paintings  and  sculpture 
of  the  rudest  kind  and  a  few  marble  funeral  tablets."  On  one  of 
the  tablets  Longfellow  read  a  "singular  inscription"  a  translation  of 
which  he  gives. 

"Look  not  mournfully  into  the  Past.    It  comes  not  back  again. 
Wisely  improve  the  Present.     It  is  thine.     Go  forth  to  meet  the 
shadowy  Future  without  fear  and  with  a  manly  heart." 

What  a  long  hunt  we  had  for  that  tablet,  and  how  pleased  we 
were  when  at  last  we  found  it! 

In  the  little  church  the  afternoon  service  was  going  on.  When  it 
was  over  the  older  people  waited  outside  while  the  children  knelt 
awhile  in  prayer,  and  very  pretty  they  looked,  those  boys  and  girls 
in  bright  Tyrolean  costume;  then  all  the  congregation,  the  pastor 
leading,  walked  down  the  village  street. 

At  St.  Gilgen  we  said  good-by  to  the  romantically  beautiful 
country  and  the  jovial,  picturesque  people  and  in  the  evening  reached 
Salzburg,  always  a  favorite  place  with  us. 

We  had  expected  to  remain  in  Europe  for  the  summer  and  prob- 
ably the  coming  winter,  and  where  should  we  spend  the  balance  of 
the  summer.  We  talked  of  this  place  and  that.  Suddenly  you  said, 
"Why  not  go  home?  we  shall  have  three  months  before  the  really  cold 
weather.  The  fruit  will  soon  be  ripe  in  the  orchard,  and  you  always 
enjoy  the  autumn  tints  of  the  trees,"  and  that  was  what  we  did,  sail- 
ing from  Antwerp  for  New  York  on  S.  S.  Lapland  July  30,  1910. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Seventy-five 


mHiiHiiittmminrniiiiinniMiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinimummnnHiriiimiiimniHtininniiitnrminiitinritiiiiiiiniimtmimnmninmimimiimtiiiiiimnr^^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

muiMiiiiniiniiniiiiiniHiiiiiiiiniiiiiriiiiiiMuniriiiiiiiiiiNiMiiiiiuiitnmiimriiiiiiiiiiiiHiniiiniininuiiiiiiiiHiiMiniMMiiuiiiiiniiniiiiniHiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniii^ 

On  the  fourteenth  of  November  we  reached  the  Grand  Canyon. 
It  was  late  for  that  region  and  we  made  the  end  of  our  journey  in  a 
snow  storm.  To  our  great  rehef  the  storm  was  Hke  a  summer  shower ; 
soon  the  sun  shone  and  while  the  wind  was  sharp  the  atmopshere  was 
clear  when  we  gazed  upon  that  wonderful  gorge  with  its  color  bands 
stretching  away  for  miles,  its  towers  and  turrets,  its  pinnacles,  cliffs 
and  crags,  and  hundreds  of  feet  below,  looking  like  a  narrow  ribbon, 
the  Colorado  River  that  had  worn  its  ever-deepening  channel  through 
the  soil  and  left  these  fantastic  shapes  of  marvellously  colored  sand- 
stone. 

We  had  a  pleasant  talk  with  Mr.  Moran,  the  artist,  who  said  "It 
is  a  great  day  for  reds  and  purples — another  day  brown  and  yellow 
will  dominate." 

For  the  sake  of  old  times  we  went  to  Coronado  Beach.  When- 
ever in  mid-winter  we  went  for  a  short  vacation  to  Southern  Cali- 
fornia, there  was  no  place  we  enjoyed  so  much  as  Coronado  Beach, 
always  finding  San  Francisco  friends,  and  always  having  a  royally 
good  time. 

Charles  Nordhoff,  journalist  and  author,  was  living  a  few 
blocks  away.  We  had  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance  and  met  him 
frequently  at  the  hotel;  more  frequently  at  his  home,  where  Mrs. 
NordhofF  and  a  daughter  always  made  us  welcome.  Mr.  Nordhoff 
who  had  come  to  California  for  his  health  had  passed  away.  To  be- 
guile the  days  of  sorrow  and  loneliness  Mrs.  Nordhoff  was  travelling 
with  friends  around  the  world,  fell  sick  and  died  in  India.  Of  the 
daughter  we  knew  nothing.  We  walked  back  and  forth  before  the 
house  that  had  been  the  home  of  that  delightful  family,  talking  of 
them  and  of  the  changes  time  had  wrought. 

On  the  porch,  in  easy  chairs,  two  old  people  sat,  and  knowing 
they  would  wonder  why  strangers  should  survey  their  house  so  intent- 
ly you  went  up  the  steps  and  explained  our  interest  in  it.  It  was 
evident  they  wanted  company  and  urged  us  to  rest  awhile  on  the 
porch.  We  soon  learned  that  they  came  from  New  York  State, — 
that  they  had  owned  the  house  a  year, — that  they  found  it  lonesome 
but  were  there  for  the  climate, — that  they  had  always  lived  where 
they  had  only  three  months  of  summer  and  now  they  had  summer  all 
the  year. 

"In  what  part  of  New  York  State  did  you  live  where  you  only 
had  three  months  of  summer?"  you  asked. 

"In  the  Adirondack  Mountains"  was  the  answer. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Seventy-six 


iiinirmiiiiiniiiiiiiiniiiiiiiniiiMinirHniiMHnMiMiiuHtiniinniiiiiiniiiiiniiiiiitimiiiiiniNiiiitnintiiHiiniHniuniiininniiiiniiiHniniiitniiiuniiiniiiiiiiiiiuminiiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

niuiitiMiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininiiiininiiiiiiUMiiunnniiniinininniiiiliiiliiiiimiiiiiiiitiiHUiiMniiniiiininiiiinunnniHUiiiiuiiuinnininininniiMiiiiuinininMniiiiiiiii^ 

Through  the  conversation  that  followed  we  learned  that  Paul 
Smith  had  bought  the  Nordhoff  home. 

And  who  was  Paul  Smith  I  hear  my  California  reader  ask. 

Paul  Smith  was  born  in  the  Adirondack  Mountains  and  was  a 
guide  from  boyhood.  He  was  frugal,  saved  his  money  and  in  time 
bought  a  few  acres  of  land  and  built  a  small  house  of  entertainment. 
He  prospered,  the  acres  grew,  the  house  and  cottages  grew  until  Paul 
Smith  had  the  largest  and  most  popular  resort,  of  the  many  in  that 
beautiful  mountain  region. 

When  he  heard  of  our  old  home  in  Central  New  York  and  that 
we  knew  his  place  and  all  the  country  around  he  was  indeed  an  over- 
joyed man. 

We  told  him  of  our  delight  in  drifting  in  a  row  boat  down  the 
little  river  where  the  white  water  lilies  grew  along  both  banks ;  of  one 
long  June  day  when  we  had  made  the  circle  of  lakes  in  his  neighbor- 
hood by  carry — starting  from  the  St.  Regis  Lake  near  his  house  in  a 
canoe,  with  a  guide  who  rowed  the  boat  and  carried  it  on  his  shoulders 
between  the  lakes;  of  being  there  one  Sunday  and  seeing  the  people 
come  by  boat  from  near-by  camps  to  morning  service  in  the  little 
chapel  that  had  been  built  by  summer  visitors,  and  hOw  pretty  and 
interesting  it  all  was,  and  when  we  came  away  you  said, 

"Well,  it  is  a  strange,  old  World!  To  think  of  Paul  Smith  and 
his  wife  settled  in  the  Nordhoff  home!" 

We  spent  two  weeks  with  friends  in  Santa  Barbara  and  reached 
San  Francisco  and  the  Fairmont  Hotel  the  twelfth  of  December. 
The  winter  was  a  happy  one  seeing  much  of  our  friends  and  enjoying 
the  bonhomie  that  pervades  California  life.  My  diary  recorded  an 
inch  of  snow  February  26,  1911,  to  the  delight  of  small  boys  who 
made  pedestrians  and  trolley  cars  targets  for  snow  balling. 

The  first  of  June  we  reached  our  old  home  in  Central  New  York, 
and  November  18,  1911,  a  cold,  bleak,  blustering  day,  we  sailed  from 
New  York  on  the  Steamer  Caronia  for  Europe.  Twenty-four  hours 
later  we  ran  into  smooth  seas  and  mild  air.  We  had  agreeable  people 
as  deck  and  table  companions,  and  the  days  passed  delightfully. 

On  the  morning  of  the  25th  the  mountainous  island  of  Madeira 
was  before  us  and  at  noon  we  were  at  anchor  in  the  Bay  of  Funchal. 
The  view  from  the  Steamer's  deck  was  extremely  beautiful.  In  the 
midst  of  rich,  tropical  vegetation,  a  white  city  on  a  curving  beach 
stretched  over  a  plain  and  up  the  gentle  slopes  of  surrounding  hills. 
Beyond  the  hills  mountain  ranges  rose  one  above  another  until  the 
summits  were  lost  in  mist. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Seventy-seven 


wniimiinniiiiiiMiiiiimiiHiMHHiinniniiiiMniitniiiniHtmimimimnmniiiinrimiiiHuinMiiniiiiimrmiHiHinitriimiiiiitiiiiiiimHiiriiiiiiiiiirniHMiimiiiiinniiiiiiiiiiiiHtm^ 

MEMORIES       —        SOME        OF        MANY 

'iminiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiinHniiniiiiiHiiiiinHiniiiitiitiiiiiiininiiniiiiiiHnitiHiMinitiiiiHiiiiiHiiiiiiHiimiiiMiMMiiiiiHiiiiiiinniiiininiiiiiiiniiiHiiMnitiiMiiHi^ 

We  went  ashore  in  a  launch  and  outside  the  dock  enclosure, 
found  carros,  the  quaintest,  most  unique  and  picturesque  of  convey- 
ances awaiting  the  passengers.  Wicker  work  vehicles,  with  two  seats 
holding  four  people  facing  each  other,  mounted  on  runners,  covered 
and  hung  with  bright-colored  curtains  and  drawn  by  large  bullocks 
with  a  man  and  boy  in  charge  of  each  team. 

Into  one  of  the  gayest  of  the  fantastic  carros,  we,  with  two 
ship-companions  took  our  seats.  The  driver,  with  a  loud  shout,  prod- 
ded his  bullocks  with  an  iron-pointed  stick  and  the  boy  at  their  heads 
guided  them  by  leather  thongs  attached  to  their  horns.  A  long 
grease-soaked  bag  was  hung  over  the  pole  and  at  short  intervals  the 
driver  ran  ahead  and  threw  it  across  the  road  to  oil  the  runners.  The 
streets  were  paved  with  small  cobblestones  over  which  the  carro 
slipped  and  jolted  with  an  extra  jolt  when  we  crossed  the  greasy  bag. 

The  Caronia's  passengers  made  the  shopping  street  lively  and 
left  the  merchants  with  smiling  faces,  buying  freely  of  Madeira 
specialties;  inlaid  work,  wine,  embroidery  and  selecting  for  shipment 
pieces  of  wicker  work,  osier  qt  ratan, — baskets,  chairs,  tables  and 
settees. 

From  the  tree-shaded  shopping  street  our  carro  took  us  to  the 
feniculaire  up  which  we  rode  to  Reid's  Hotel.  House,  views  and 
garden  were  alike  delightful.  Flowers,  orange  groves,  rows  of 
banana  trees,  latticed  arbors  and  fountains.  By  a  winding  path 
through  the  Hotel  grounds  we  reached  the  Mount  Church,  where, 
from  the  terrace,  2,200  feet  above  the  sea,  we  had  a  glorious  view  of 
the  country,  Funchal  and  the  bay.  Near  the  church  was  the  starting 
place  for  our  toboggan  ride.  The  "Mount  sleds"  were  of  wicker, 
padded  and  cushioned,  seating  two  persons,  each  guided  by  two  men 
with  long  poles. 

The  road  before  us  was  straight,  cobble-paved  and  frightfully 
steep.  The  sensation  in  making  the  rapid  descent  was  like  riding  on 
the  down  grade  of  a  switchback  railway.  How  the  men  kept  abreast 
of  the  sleds  and  guided  them  in  a  direct  line  was  a  mystery. 

When  we  started  I  held  my  breath  and  clutched  your  arm,  nor 
did  I  relax  my  tension  or  my  grip,  until  we  reached  the  foot  of  the 
mountain;  then  you  said, 

"I  never  knew  you  to  be  so  timid.  I  am  glad  you  did  not  scream 
as  so  many  women  did." 

In  returning  to  the  harbor  we  crossed  a  square  with  a  fountain 
in  the  center,  where  women  with  earthen  jars  on  their  heads  had  come 
for  water.    It  was  a  picturesque  sight  in  the  fading  light  of  day,  to 

Page  Two  Hundred  Seventy-eight 


(inriiiiiininiiiiiiiiiiiininiiinMiiininininitMUitiiiiiiiiiiiiininiiuuuuuiililUHWUiuiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirinuniiiiiiiiiiiuiiuiiiiiiiiiuiniiiiiiiinini^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iMuniiiiiniiniiiiuiiiniiniHiniuiniuiMiniiiiinMuuiiiiiiiiiiininiiiiinmiiiiiiiiiiiuitiiiniiiniiiiniiiHiiiiiiinininiiuiHiiiiimiiiinuiiiiiiinniinniiiHiiiinitn 

see  them  grouped  about  the  fountain  and  moving  through  the  square. 

The  next  morning,  we  went  ashore  with  the  first  launch  that  left 
the  ship.  We  had  planned  to  go  among  the  hills  and  chose  our 
bullocks  with  great  care;  a  handsome  pair  with  tiny,  tinkling  bells 
around  their  necks. 


A  CARRO 

I  We  Chose  Our  Bullocks  with  Great  Care  Because  We  Were  Going  Among  the  Hills. 

1 

We  had  a  glorious  drive  past  hotels  and  villas,  inland  and  on 
bluffs  overhanging  the  sea.  The  houses  were  very  pretty  with  ver- 
andas screened  by  flowering  vines,  palm  trees  waving  over  them  and 
terraced  gardens  that  were  full  of  bloom.  Roses  in  great  variety, 
tropical  morning  glories  of  wondrous  hue,  geranium  in  trees  with  large 
brilliant  flowers,  immense  beds  of  violets,  blue,  white  and  yellow,  poin- 
settia,  begonia  and  bougainvillea,  orange  and  lemon  trees.  Many 
villas  with  extensive  grounds  had  fig  and  banana  trees,  guavas,  sugar- 
cane and  the  tropical  pawpaw  and  cherimoya;  other  villas  were 
enclosed  by  high  walls  hiding  from  us,  on  our  low  seats  all  but  the 
tops  of  trees. 

We  were  passing  one  of  these  unfriendly  places  when  the 
entrance  gate  opened  and  a  carro  drove  out.  Nothing  could  have 
given  us  greater  pleasure  than  that  private  carro  with  bright-figured 
silk  curtains  parted  wide,  holding  three  pretty  young  girls  and 
their  chaperone.  It  was  only  a  glimpse  but  indelibly  fixed,  of  three 
slight  figures  attired  in  white,  with  dark,  languishing  eyes  and  hair 
falling  loose  over  their  shoulders. 

At  four  o'clock  that  afternoon  the  Caronia  sailed  from  Funchal 

Page  Two  Hundred  Seventy-nine 


•nmHiiiuuiiiiiiiiiniinunitnitiiiiiiintiinnniMiitniiiiiintiiiiiiinniiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiHiniiiiniiiiiiHinnriniiiitiniiuiinntiiniHiHiiiiiiiiiiiinuniniHiiiiiiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

•iiuiiiHHiiiiiiiiiiiii I iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuniii iiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiniiniiiiii iiiiiiiiii iiiiiiimiiiiiiHm 

Bay  and  early  on  the  morning  of  the  28th  we  were  at  Gibraltar.  We 
had  made  many  visits  there;  had  been  through  the  vast  galleries  cut 
in  the  solid  mountain  rock  of  the  fortress  with  countless  casemated 
batteries;  had  seen  the  beautiful  residences  and  charming  gardens, 
and  the  display  of  Oriental  merchandise  in  the  shops;  and  had  often 
watched  the  red-coated  British  soldiers  marching  to  the  music  of  fife 
and  drum  down  the  one  long  street  to  the  waterfront,  where,  as  the 
sun  went  down  and  the  canon  boomed,  they  locked  the  city  gates. 

There  were  many  Moors  about  the  landing  place  and  I  almost 
envied  the  enthusiasm  of  those  who  looked  upon  the  picturesque 
beings  for  the  first  time. 

We  left  Gibraltar  in  the  evening  and  on  the  30th  were  in  the 
Bay  of  Algiers.  Under  the  early  morning  light  the  houses  rising  in 
terraces  on  the  slope  of  a  steep  hill  crowned  by  a  magnificent  castle 
were  dazzling  in  their  whiteness. 

We  went  ashore  on  a  pontoon  bridge  and  found  a  large  part  of 
the  City  very  attractive  and  thoroughly  French  in  aspect.  We  had 
a  delightful  drive  on  the  hills.  Many  of  the  charming  villas  that  we 
saw  were  Moorish  in  design  almost  buried  amid  the  orange  and  palm 
trees,  and  the  views  were  extended  and  beautiful.  We  went  through 
the  Winter  Palace,  residence  of  the  former  Dey  of  Algiers.  The 
Moorish  rooms  were  rich  in  decoration, — a  double  door  of  exquisite 
workmanship  divided  the  abode  of  the  wives,  from  the  harem. 

In  the  native  quarter  the  steep  streets,  swarming  with  Arabs  and 
Moors,  were  like  tunnels;  the  roofs  of  the  houses  nearly  met  over- 
head and  dirty,  smelly  water  trickled  between  the  cobblestones  of  the 
pavement.  In  going  up  one  of  those  unsanitary  alleys  single  file, 
one  of  our  party  wanted  a  picture  of  a  patriarchal  looking  Arab  and 
asked  me  to  stand  still  a  moment  while  he  adjusted  his  kodak.  When 
I  stepped  forward  and  the  patriarch  saw  the  camera,  he  gave  an  un- 
earthly yell  and  with  upraised  stick  came  tottering  towards  the 
oifender.  All  the  natives  around  took  up  the  hue  and  cry,  hooted  at 
us  and  shook  their  clenched  fists.  We  got  out  of  that  alley  wdth  all 
the  speed  possible,  and  learned  later  that  Arabs  never  pose  for  pic- 
tures, believing  that  the  soul  is  taken  away  with  the  likeness. 

The  veiled  women  of  Algiers  were  hideous,  in  their  loose,  shape- 
less, white  blouses,  and  baggy,  white  Turkish  trousers,  all  very  much 
in  need  of  soap  and  water. 

At  four  in  the  afternoon  we  sailed  from  Algiers  and  on  the 
morning  of  December  second  were  at  anchor  in  the  harbor  of  Ville- 
franche.    A  few  hours  later  we  were  in  our  old  quarters  at  Nice,  in 

Page  Two  Hundred  Eighty 


iiiiinuHiiniuiinuiHiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiniiiiiiiiNiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinitnniinmiinnmtniiHiiniiiiimnniiiiittiiiiininiiuittiHniuiiinnuniiiitintiniiiiu^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

uniHimMniiiHnniniiunniJiiiiiiiiiiiiiMniiiMiiiinnnniiiinMinniMiiiniiiinHiiiiiiiuiHiiinnnmnuiiuimiuiHiitiiiuuiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiMiniMiiiiniiiiiiiiniiiiiiiMiiii^ 

the  midst  of  the  friendly,  f amihar  set,  ready  to  take  up  the  pleasant, 
easy-going  life  of  former  seasons. 

The  middle  of  March  found  us  in  Rome  where  we  met  old-time 
California  friends  whose  company  added  much  to  our  pleasure.  Ten 
years  before,  in  the  month  of  March,  we  had  heard  at  the  Argentina 
Theater,  Rossini's  Stabat  Mater  delightfully  rendered  by  an  orchestra 
of  eighty,  a  chorus  of  three  hundred,  and  fine  soloists,  all  led  by  the 
famous  Father  Hartman. 

Seeing  Rossini's  Stabat  Mater  advertised  and  thinking  to  enjoy 
another  musical  treat,  we  suggested  that  our  friends  should  join  us 
and  told  them  of  our  former  experience.  We  all  came  away  before 
the  end  of  a  most  dreary  performance,  and  well  I  remember  how 
crest-fallen  you  and  I  felt. 

We  enjoyed  seeing  the  many  objects  of  interest  and  beauty  that 
former  visits  had  made  familiar.  In  my  diary  I  read,  "The  27th 
spent  at  Hadrian's  Villa,  the  waterfalls  of  Tivoli,  and  the  Villa 
d'Este  was  a  red-letter  day,"  and  there  between  the  pages  of  my 
book,  Dear  Heart  of  mine,  lies  the  little  bunch  of  flowers  you  gath- 
ered in  the  charming  grounds  of  Hadrian's  Villa,  and  a  leaf  of  laurel, 
beloved  by  the  ancients,  that  you  picked  from  a  noble  tree  standing 
in  the  midst  of  the  terraces  and  fountains  and  tall  cypress  trees  of 
the  Villa  d'Este. 

We  left  Rome  early  in  April.  On  both  banks  of  the  Tiber, 
Judas  trees,  growing  wild,  were  in  full  bloom,  and  oxen  grazing  in 
the  fields  had  handsome,  wonderful,  long  horns. 

We  stopped  at  Siena  to  see  the  Cathedral,  and  the  beautiful  old 
frescoes  in  the  Library. 

We  were  interested  in  the  trolley  cars  that  carried  us  up  and 
down  the  narrow,  hilly  streets,  with  neither  rails  nor  poles,,  the  wires 
being  held  in  place  by  supporting  wires  fastened  to  the  houses. 

Upon  reaching  Florence  we  applied  at  eight  hotels  before  finding 
accommodations.  That  was  one  of  the  trials  when  the  tide  of  travel 
was  at  the  flood.  We  had  experienced  it  in  Rome,  in  London  and 
Paris.  Driving  from  one  hotel  to  another — exhausting  those  men- 
tioned by  Baedeker,  then  trying  those  recommended  by  the  cabman. 
We  once  reached  Munich  11  o'clock  at  night  and  went  to  the  Hotel 
of  Four  Seasons — only  an  attic  room  to  be  had — ^we  drove  from  place 
to  place,  then  in  fear  and  trembling  lest  some  one  had  the  attic  room, 
returned  to  the  Four  Seasons  Hotel.  From  the  lift  we  went  up  a 
short  flight  of  stairs  to  a  good  sized  room  with  three  small  dormer 
windows.  It  was  quiet  and  comfortable  and  so  moderate  in  price  that 
we  remained  in  it  during  our  stay  of  ten  days. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Eighty-one 


4HiiiiiniiriiHiMiiiiuuiniMiHiiiuiMiiiiiuuiiiuniinnniuiinniiMiniiiiiiiiMunuutuuiiuiiiruiiiuiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiuiniiuiiiuiiinMtiumiiiiiiiuuiiiinuiuiii 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

'inHiiiiiuiiiiuHiHiiiuMiiiuiiiiiHuniuiiiHiiiiiiiiinuiniNuiiuiuiMuiiiiiuiuiMUUiiuuiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiMHiiiiuiiHiiiiunninuiunnmiiiuiMMniiniiiuiiniinin 

In  Florence  we  had  a  week  of  pictures  and  sculpture  and  cold, 
raw,  nasty  weather;  then  to  the  Lake  of  Como  where  the  nightingales 
were  in  full  song  and  the  beautiful  rhododendron  trees  in  full  bloom. 
Two  happy  days,  then  drizzling  rain  and  back  we  went  to  Milan. 

We  spent  several  rainy  days  looking  at  pictures  and  the  Cathed- 
ral, and  with  a  promise  of  clear  skies  went  to  the  Lake  of  Garda. 
The  scenery  was  grand;  the  mountains  lofty,  and  the  rocky,  wooded 
islands  beautiful  and  picturesque,  but  we  shivered  on  the  deck  of  the 
little  boat  and  were  glad  to  go  ashore  at  Gardone.  The  next  morn- 
ing, under  watery  sunshine,  with  a  cold  wind,  we  completed  the 
circuit  of  the  lake  and  on  the  first  day  of  May  reached  Venice. 

There  in  a  gondola,  near  the  gardens  we  loved,  we  sunned,  and 
warmed,  and  thawed  ourselves  out.  Warmth  is  life,  you  said  again 
and  again  as  we  basked  in  the  ardent  rays  of  the  May-day  sun.  We 
had  ten  delightful  days,  and  as  many  delightful  evenings  in  the 
Piazza  of  St.  Marks  strolling  in  the  arcades,  eating  ices  at  Florians 
and  enjoying  the  music  of  a  large  military  band;  then  through  the 
Tyrol  we  went  to  Innsbruck. 

Sunday  morning  in  the  congregation  of  the  Hofkircke  were  our 
California  friends,  last  seen  in  Florence.  When  the  service  was  over 
we  sat  with  them  in  a  charming  park  and  listened  to  the  blackbirds 
singing  in  the  trees  and  two  days  later,  a  party  of  six,  we  journeyed 
on  to  Munich;  and  how  lovely  Munich  was!  the  streets  bright  with 
pink  and  white  alternating  bloom  of  horse  chestnut  trees,  and  the 
beautiful  fountains  playing,  plashing  and  sparkling  in  the  sun. 

Leisurely  we  enjoyed  the  magnificent  art  treasures  of  the  City 
and  at  the  famous  Hoffbrau  and  Liirven  Brau  we  ate  pretzels,  drank 
beer  and  listened  to  the  music. 

From  Munich  to  Salzburg,  then  driven  by  persistent  rain  we 
went  on  to  Vienna. 

We  were  located  near,  and  in  sight  of  St.  Stephen's  Cathedral 
and  day  after  day  we  saw  a  succession  of  pretty  and  interesting  pic- 
tures. In  the  vast,  solemn,  grand  interior  of  St.  Stephens'  groups 
of  children,  the  girls  in  purest  white,  were  being  confirmed,  and  a 
Cardinal  in  scarlet,  follov/ed  by  Bishops  and  Priests  could  frequently 
be  seen  in  the  dim,  religious  light  moving  from  one  group  to  another. 
The  streets  leading  to  the  Church  were  full  of  children  in  confirma- 
tion dress ;  the  wealthy  in  flower-decked  carriages  or  autos ;  the  others 
walking, — often  alas!  the  little  white-slippered  feet  suffered  sadly 
from  the  drizzling  rain  and  muddy  streets. 

On  a  previous  visit  we  had  seen  in  Vienna  a  ballet  that  appealed 

Page  Two  Hundred  Eighty-two 


.iimiimtiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniitiiiriitiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiii iiiimniiiiitiiitiiiuiiiiiiiiitiiiininimiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiimtiuimtiiimitminiiiitiiiimm 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

miiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiliiiiriimiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiitiiriiiMiiiiiitiiiii iniiiiitiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiii 

to  your  imagination,  and  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  see  a  similar 
performance,  our  party  went  one  evening  to  the  splendid  Royal 
Opera  House  to  witness  the  ballet  of  The  Four  Seasons  of  Life. 
There  was  no  pirouetting  on  the  tips  of  the  great  toes — no  abbrevi- 
ated skirts.  The  beautiful  music  was  by  Shubert  and  the  dancing, 
quiet,  graceful,  rhythmic  movement  by  sets  of  eight  people  at  differ- 
ent periods  of  life — childhood,  youth  and  middle  age.  The  costumes 
were  those  of  the  past,  the  children  very  quaint  and  pretty. 

In  the  last  scene  two  old  people,  who  had  danced  for  us  in  their 
youth,  sat  beside  the  glowing  coals  of  the  hearth,  fondly  gazing  upon 
their  grandchildren  as  they  danced,  and  the  curtain  rung  down  upon 
a  ballet  unique  and  beautiful. 

On  the  first  day  of  June  we  were  off  on  a  three  days  excursion 
to  Budapest,  through  a  highly  cultivated  country — time  four  hours. 
Our  hotel,  the  Bristol,  was  on  the  Franz- Joseph  Quay,  a  magnificent 
street  skirting  the  river,  one  mile  in  length,  to  which  no  vehicles  were 
admitted. 

It  was  the  popular  and  favorite  promenade  and  while  we  sat 
under  the  trees  and  ate  our  dinner,  the  fashion  and  beauty  of  the 
Hungarian  capital  passed  in  review  before  us. 

Budapest  and  the  Danube!  a  strikingly  beautiful  and  pictures- 
que City,  and  a  grand,  dignified  River!  Springing  abruptly  from  the 
stream  to  a  great  height,  a  rock  crowned  by  the  citadel.  On  the 
opposite,  elevated  bank  the  Royal  Palace  rising  majestically  from 
its  terraces  and  trees.  A  superb  Opera  House  and  splendid  public 
structures  with  Corinthian  columns  of  different  colored  marbles. 
Chateaux  on  the  summits  of  hills,  tree-shaded  streets,  statues,  parks, 
fountains  and  great  fleets  of  boats  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  River. 

We  walked  over  the  imposing  suspension  bridge  guarded  at 
either  end  by  two  stone  lions  of  colossal  size,  gained  the  heights  above 
by  a  lift,  saw  the  quaint  Old  Town  Hall,  a  beautiful  figure  fountain, 
and  had  many  lovely  views.  Then  up  the  Danube  by  boat  to 
Margaretta  Island,  converted  into  a  large,  popular  pleasure  ground 
— charming  and  interesting. 

Our  rooms  at  the  Bristol  Hotel  were  delightful,  with  windows 
looking  on  the  river,  the  bridges  spanning  it,  and  the  Royal  Palace 
on  the  opposite  bank.  Our  breakfasts  and  dinners  on  the  promenade 
we  long  remembered — ^^also  the  little  notice  posted  near  the  elevator, 
"By  order  of  the  Police,  guests  are  not  allowed  to  use  the  lift  in 
going  down."  We  were  all  on  the  third  floor  and  often  pushed  the 
button  and  waited  for  some  response  to  our  call,  but  none  ever  came. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Eighty-three 


miiiiiiinnMinnniniiniitiiiiiininnMiininnuMiiMinMnnninniiiiniiiiiiiniMiiiniiiiuHimniininnMniiiiiiiiiMniiuiitiiMinninminiMiiiimniniiiiimiinniiiniitniuiiiiHniiinin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

<iiHuinNniiHuiniiiiiiiiriiHiiiiiiiiiijiiiiHnnuniiinHniumiuiiimiiiiiiuiiuiiiiiiimiiimiinuiiiiiiiiiuiniiiiuiuiiHiiiimminiumiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniui^ 

Leaving  Budapest  we  drove  to  the  station  by  way  of  Andrassy 
Street,  where  many  wealthy  and  titled  Hungarians  had  their  hand- 
some homes — among  them  we  saw  that  of  the  American  heiress, 
Gladys  Vanderbilt,  now  Countess — 

June  sixth  the  festival  of  Corpus  Christi  occurred,  and  what  a 
procession  it  was,  that  we  saw  moving  to  and  from  St.  Stephen's 
Cathedral — so  long,  so  brilliant,  so  wonderful!  Austrian  and  Hun- 
garian nobles.  State  officials.  Army  and  Navy  officers,  all  in  gorgeous 
uniforms,  joining  the  Cardinal,  Bishops  and  Priests  in  a  procession 
through  the  principal  streets — all  on  foot,  all  bare-headed,  from  the 
Crown  Prince  to  the  Acolytes  that  swung  the  censers  of  burning 
incense.  Bands  of  music  and  choristers  enlivened  the  beautiful 
pageant.  At  the  very  end  came  the  Bitter  Knights,  mounted  on  high- 
stepping,  white  horses,  mantles  of  leopard  skin  falling  from  their  left 
shoulders  and  uniforms  of  scarlet  and  gold  that  were  fairly  dazzling 
in  their  brilliancy. 

Our  next  stopping  place  was  Carlsbad,  our  friends  going  by 
way  of  Prague  and  we  by  a  shorter  route,  as  we  had  seen  the  towers 
and  spires  and  domes  of  the  Bohemian  capital,  the  palaces  and 
gardens  of  the  old  aristocracy,  the  narrow  streets  lined  by  tall, 
quaint,  old  houses,  the  solid  silver  monument  of  St.  Nepomuk,  the 
patron  Saint,  and  had  walked  over  the  old  Bridge — the  Karlsbriicke 
adorned  by  statues  and  groups  of  Saints. 

We  spent  a  month  at  Carlsbad  drinking  the  waters  to  the  strains 
of  music  at  an  early  morning  hour,  eating  our  meals  to  the  strains  of 
music,  under  the  trees  when  it  did  not  rain,  and  taking  long  walks 
in  the  narrow,  pretty  valley,  or  on  the  paths  of  wooded  hills  when 
weather  permitted.  At  Carlsbad  our  enjoyable  little  party  disbanded 
as  their  plans  and  ours  for  the  summer  were  not  the  same. 

We  went  to  Dresden  and  from  there  to  Berlin.  The  weather 
was  uncomfortably  warm  and  although  the  Bristol  Hotel  on  Unter 
den  Linden  was  delightful,  for  three  successive  evenings  we  went 
with  thousands  to  the  Zoological  Gardens  for  dinner.  The  grounds 
were  beautiful  and  extensive.  Two  large,  excellent  bands  furnished 
music  and  rows  of  seats  provided  comfort  and  rest.  We  strolled 
from  one  music  stand  to  the  other,  wherever  a  number  on  the  pro- 
gram most  attracted  us.  One  evening  we  heard  a  fanfare  of  twenty- 
four  trumpets  that  was  thrilHng  in  effect. 

From  Berlin  to  Hanover,  a  beautiful,  new  city  remarkable  for 
the  original  architecture  of  many  of  its  buildings.  The  Old  City  Hall 
and  two  quaint,  old  churches  spoke  eloquently  of  a  picturesque  past. 

Page  Two  Hundred  Eighty-four 


MimimiiiiiininiiinnnHitiiiiiiniiiiniiintiiitiniiiiiiriirnrriiirinimiiimimniniiiiiininimniiiMiiiiiiniiminiimiiiiiimiiniiniiiiiimiiininniiiniiiHiHimiiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iMuiiiiniiHimjiiiinniiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiMnjiinriitinniuiiiiimiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiininiinuriitiMiinininiiiMiiitiiniiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMitMtim 

Magnificent  promenades  and  avenues  of  fine  linden  trees  made  the 
city  delightful. 

Interwoven  with  memories  of  Hanover  is  the  following:  Going 
into  the  breakfast  room  at  Kasten's  Hotel  we  were  given  a  table 
beside  a  family  party — presumably,  father,  mother  and  several  half- 
grown  children.  No  attention  was  paid  to  us  until  our  breakfast 
came  and  we  began  to  eat — then  all  the  party  stared;  the  father  and 
mother  furtively;  the  children  boldly.  You  ate  on,  undisturbed,  but 
I  was  annoyed.  The  waiter  was  hovering  about  taking  that  mild 
interest  in  our  appetites  that  waiters  seem  to  feel,  and  I  asked  him, 

"Can  you  tell  me  why  those  people  look  at  us  in  that  rude  way?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "it  is  seeing  you  eat  your  eggs  out  of  the 
shell."    Then  he  added  apologetically,  "They  come  from  the  country." 

To  Hamburg  and  the  familiar  Hamburger  Hof,  looking  out  on 
the  familiar  Basin.  The  heat  was  torrid.  We  spent  our  days  on  the 
little  steamers  that  plied  around  the  Basin  but  even  on  the  water, 
in  motion,  the  air  was  stagnant.  On  the  third  morning,  weary  from 
the  heat,  you  said, 

"This  is  weather  Sir  Walter  Scott  called,  fit  only  for  flies" — 
after  a  pause,  "Let  us  give  up  the  Continent  and  go  to  England; 
conditions  may  be  better  there." 

We  went  to  a  Booking  Office,  found  that  the  President  Grant 
sailed  the  following  morning  from  Hamburg's  port,  Cuxhaven,  and 
engaged  passage.  In  the  night  a  violent  storm  of  thunder,  lightning, 
rain  and  hail  so  lowered  the  temperature  that  we  left  the  Hotel  in 
heavy  wraps. 

We  reached  Southampton  at  midnight  and  after  resting  a  day 
journeyed  on,  stopping  at  Salisbury  to  see  the  Cathedral  with  hand- 
some spire,  the  highest  in  England;  also  the  Exeter  Cathedral — an 
exquisite  facade  and  beautiful  interior.  One  of  the  massive  towers 
held  the  great  bell,  "Tom  of  Exeter,"  weighing  12,500  pounds. 

What  a  happy  day  we  had.  Dear  Heart,  both  so  glad  to  be  again 
in  England.  As  we  rolled  along  over  the  lovely  country,  bright  with 
poppies  and  cornflowers  we  talked  of  the  English  Cathedrals  we  had 
seen;  of  York,  Worceseter  and  Lincoln,  of  Wells,  Ely,  Bath  and 
Gloucester,  of  the  "Grey  Towers  of  Durham,"  of  Canterbury  and 
Westminster  Abbey;  of  Tinten  Abbey  and  the  wall  flowers  that 
grew  in  profusion  among  the  ruins,  and  of  the  dear,  chatty  old  lady — 
so  like  Queen  Victoria — who  served  us  with  such  good  tea  and  bread 
and  butter  after  our  scramble  up  and  down  the  crumbling,  flower- 
decked  walls; — and  of  lovely  Fountains  Abbey,  the  most  romantic 

Page  Two  Hundred  Eighty-five 


itiUHiHuiumiuiiHmHMinMnuiiiiiuiiMiiiiiiniuiiinuiiiiiiHniiHiiiiiiimniimiiHiiniinmiiiiuiiiiiiiiiHiiiiniiiMiiimiiiiNiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiHiMiiiiiinNiiin 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

uiHiiiiiitiiiiiiuiiiiHiiiiiiiiniiinnniuiiHiiiHiiiiuiiiiMiHuuiiniiuiiiHHiiuiUMiiimiiHmiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiniMiiiininiiiinnniiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiHniiiiiiiiiniinHiiniii^ 

and  picturesque  of  all  the  ruined  Abbeys  of  England;  and  when  we 
reached  what  Kingsley  calls  in  Westward  Ho  "the  little,  white  town 
of  Bideford"  we  left  the  train  and  went  to  the  Royal  Hotel,  a  hand- 
some house  with  a  lobby  ceiling  of  oak,  beautifully  carved.  In  our 
after  dinner  stroll  we  saw  a  statue  of  Kingsley  and  several  guns  of 
the  Spanish  Armada  long  submerged  and  buried  in  the  sand. 

The  next  day  in  a  pony  carriage  we  went  to  Clovelly.  The  coun- 
try was  Uke  a  park  and  the  three  mile  "Hobby  Drive"  through 
private  grounds,  a  delight.  Charming  views,  avenues  of  trees  arching 
overhead  and  singing  over  its  pebbles  a  little  brook  with  banks  of 
moss  and  ferns. 

In  all  the  World  nothing  could  be  prettier,  quainter  or  more 
picturesque  than  Clovelly.  A  narrow,  richly-wooded  ravine,  with  a 
broad  stairway  descending  300  feet  to  the  sea.  On  each  side,  clinging 
and  climbing,  small,  white  houses  with  green  doors  and  latticed  win- 
dows and  mites  of  gardens  full  of  sweet  scented  flowers. 

At  one  of  the  many  gardens  where  tea  was  served  we  had  our 
lunch  with  delicious  strawberries  and  Devonshire  cream.  Far  below 
was  the  sea  and  the  fishing  boats,  and  going  up  and  down  the  street 
were  donkeys,  natives,  artists,  and  visitors  for  a  few  short  hours  like 
ourselves. 

We  spent  a  week  on  the  delightful  Devonshire  coast  in  lovely 
places  with  charming  walks  along  the  rocky  headlands  and  beside 
little  rivers  running  to  the  sea, — in  woodlands  and  among  the  heath- 
ery hills,  then  went  up  to  London. 

Lingering  over  our  breakfast  at  the  Hotel  Metropole  one  sultry 
August  morning  you  suggested  going  to  Edinburgh.  I  gladly 
assented  and  in  a  few  days  we  were  off. 

In  a  large  room  at  the  Royal  Hotel — that  we  had  twice  occupied, 
with  windows  looking  on  Princes  Street  and  the  Scott  Monument,  we 
settled  happily  down. 

We  visited  all  our  favorite  haunts  and  I  had  the  great  pleasure 
of  hearing  bag-pipes  to  my  heart's  content  where  at  open  air  concerts 
on  Princes  Street,  after  every  number  by  the  band,  twelve  pipers 
blew  their  pipes.  We  heard  the  music  played  at  weddings,  and  the 
music  played  at  funerals,  the  pibrochs,  and  the  famous  Black  Watch 
when  the  wild,  weird,  tempestuous  skirl  of  the  pipes  thrilled  one 
through  and  through. 

You  had  often  expressed  the  wish  to  see  St.  Mary's  Loch,  the 
Yarrow,  and  Tibbie  Shiels  Inn.  The  former  because  of  Wordsworth's 
poems,  the  latter  from  association  with  Scott,  Hogg  and  Wilson,  so 

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•iHimnMiitiitiininiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiMiiitiniiiiiniiiiuHiMiiiiiiiiuHniiiiiiitiimiiimiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiuuiimiiHiiiiiiiMininiiiiiiiniiiniiiiitiiiiiniiiiiiiiMiuuiii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME        OF        MANY 

iiiiiiiiiiiniininniiMNiiiiniiiMiiniinMnninMiiiiiiniinininiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimimiiiiiiiiinniiiiniiniiiiitiiniHnHiMiiniiHuiiitiiiiinniHiinniiiiiiiii^ 

when  we  left  Edinburgh  we  went  to  the  pretty  Scotch  village  of 
Selkirk  and  from  there  by  motor-bus  thirteen  miles  up  the  lovely 
valley  of  the  Yarrow  and  along  the  finely- wooded  banks  of  the  Lake 
to  the  Inn.  It  was  a  cold,  raw  day  and  the  water  was  rough  so  we 
did  not  see  Wordsworth's  swan,  "Float  double,  swan  and  shadow." 

Adjoining  the  Old  Inn  a  large  house  for  the  accommodation  of 
tourists  had  been  built.  There,  cold  and  hungry,  at  a  very  long  table 
we  had  a  poor,  very  short  lunch. 

Tibbie  Shiel's  Inn  was  a  queer,  old-fashioned  place.  All  our 
interest  centered  in  the  one  room  where  Sir  Walter  Scott,  the  Ettrick 
Shepherd  and  Christopher  North  so  often  met.  A  large,  rude  room 
with  small,  calico-curtained  windows,  a  round  table  and  rush-bottomed 
chairs.  Several  openings  in  the  wooden  walls,  each  large  enough  to 
hold  a  low  bed.  An  open  fireplace  with  an  iron  crane  and  a  smoked- 
black  teakettle  hanging  from  it.  Two  small  cupboards  let  into  the 
wall,  one  containing  dishes,  the  other  glasses  and  a  big,  black  bottle. 
It  was  a  curious  and  interesting  room  in  which  no  change  had  been 
made  since  the  days — and  nights — of  that  memorable  trio. 

We  drove  down  the  Valley  of  the  Tweed  from  Selkirk  to  Gala- 
shiels; slowly  and  with  frequent  stops  as  we  passed  Abbotsford. 
Years  before  we  had  seen  the  interior  of  the  stately,  picturesque 
house ;  now  we  were  content  to  look  at  it  across  the  river  and  the  lawn. 

Back  in  London,  the  excellent  Hotel  Metropole  with  crowds 
coming  and  going  seemed  far  from  restful.  Hoping  for  more  quiet, 
we  took  rooms  in  Mayfair,  just  off  Piccadilly.  The  location,  near  the 
park,  Berkeley  Square  and  the  old,  aristocratic  homes  was  delightful. 
Each  morning  the  lady  of  the  house  came  to  take  our  order  for 
dinner  and  to  ask  if  there  would  be  guests. 

Everything  was  agreeable  and  satisfactory  with  one  exception. 
We  had  a  butler,  a  serious,  dignified  man  grown  gray  in  the  service. 
It  was  not  his  fault  that  he  wore  upon  my  nerves,  but  he  did.  He 
showed  disappointment  because  I  insisted  upon  pouring  the  tea,  and 
very  much  aggrieved  that  he  could  not  add  the  cream  and  drop  in  the 
sugar.  For  three  weeks  he  never  ceased  trying  to  forestall  me  in 
filling  or  re-filling  the  tea  cups.  His  duty,  as  he  saw  it,  and  my 
pleasure  could  not  be  reconciled — and  the  breakfasts  were  always  a 
struggle. 

Our  Californian  friends  had  been  some  time  in  London.  We 
had  many  delightful  excursions  together  but  alas!  they  were  home- 
ward-bound, and  when  they  left,  London  was  dull  and  we  wanted  a 
change;  so  we  said  good-by  to  Mayfair,  went  to  Leamington,  found 

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iMimriiniiiiiiiiiinnniiHiHiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiinuiniiniiiiiiiiiirniimnMiiiiiiiiiuiiiinnitmmiiimiMiiinininimimMirtnrniHiiimiiiiniiiiMiiiinnniimMiiniiii^^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

itiiiinniiiiNiininirinniiiiiMiiiiiiiiniiniiiHiMnniiHiuiiuiiiuniiiiiiiiniiiinMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininniiiiiiriiiiMiiiiiiiiinniiiiinnnniiiiiiiinnrnniiMmiiiiniinHimMiiini^ 

the  old  quarters  vacant,  that  we  had  occupied  many  times — drawing- 
room,  dinin groom,  and  bedroom  on  second  floor — did  our  own 
marketing  and  were  waited  upon  by  a  young,  rosy-cheeked  girl. 

In  the  old  watering  place,  a  fine,  old  oak  surrounded  by  an  iron 
railing  bears  a  tablet  stating  that  the  tree  marks  the  very  center  of 
England,  and  in  all  England  nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  and 
interesting  than  the  surrounding  country  we  so  much  enjoyed. 

Time  and  again  we  had  gone  by  tally-ho  coach  to  Stratford  on 
Avon,  to  Kenilworth  and  Stoneleigh  Abbey,  and  had  taken  day  after 
day  the  charming  walks  Hawthorne  wrote  of  so  pleasantly.  To  War- 
wick Castle,  that  picturesque  pile,  often  going  in  to  see  the  beautiful 
pictures ;  often  taking  tea  at  one  of  the  quaint,  little  tea  houses  in  the 
medieval  town, — or  across  the  meadows  to  Guy's  Cliff  where  an  old 
miU  had  ground  wheat  into  flour  for  four  centuries  and  was  still 
at  work — then  always  rest  on  the  bench  under  the  spreading  beech 
tree  watching  the  fish  in  the  weir  and  the  deer  in  the  park  of  an 
English  peer's  ancestral  home, — or  we  idled  in  the  pump-room  gar- 
dens where  a  band  played  in  the  afternoons;  or  strolled  in  the 
pleasant  Holly  Walk  that  led  to  Hawthorne  Crescent,  where  in  a 
homelike  house  Hawthorne  spent  his  summer  vacations  during  the 
years  when  he  was  Consul  to  Liverpool. 

From  Leamington  we  returned  to  London  and  in  October  went 
to  Paris. 

At  intervals  through  the  summer  your  health  had  given  me  great 
anxiety.  You  never  complained,  were  always  cheerful  and  tried  to 
allay  my  fears.  We  had  engaged  our  old  quarters  at  Nice.  As  the 
time  for  going  drew  near  you  became  depressed  and  when  you  could 
no  longer  persuade  me  that  it  was  only  my  fancy  you  admitted  that 
you  did  not  want  to  go  to  Nice, — ^that  you  wanted  to  go  home. 

Did  you  know,  my  Beloved,  that  the  shadows  were  fast  lengthen- 
ing? and  that  your  feet  were  already  on  the  path  that  would  lead 
you  away  from  me?    Did  you  know?    Did — you — know? 

A  few  days  later,  October  twenty-third,  we  sailed  from  Cher- 
bourg on  the  staunch  old  steamer  Oceanic,  homeward  bound. 

At  once  you  felt  better  physically  and  mentally;  we  had  smooth 
seas,  agreeable  table  and  deck  companions,  and  in  your  words,  as 
pleasant  a  crossing  as  we  had  ever  made. 

When  we  reached  the  harbor  of  New  York  how  good  the  Statue 
of  Liberty  looked  to  us!  and  how  beautiful  the  great  skyscrapers! 
Magnificent  in  their  proportions ;  picturesque  in  their  irregularity  and 
studded  with  a  myriad  pin  points  of  electric  light  in  the  afternoon  of 

Page  Two  Hundred  Eighty-eight    ' 


iiiijiniininnHinniiiiiiniininininininiiHfiininHiiiuuiintiiniiiiiiiniiiMininiiHiuMiiiiininuiiniiiiiiiitiiiniHininriMiHniiMiniHiiniiMHtniinuniniiiiiiiiniiuiniinniinininiiniiiiM 

MEMORIES        —        SOME        OF        MANY 

jiiiiiiiiiMNMuiiiiintiininiiiiininiiHniiiiiHiiHHiiiiiinuiiinniiiitimiminiiiiiuiiiniinMiiiiiniiHiuiniiiiiiiiMiiniuiiiininiuiiiinniiiiiiiiHiiiiiMninHiiniiinniutiininniiii^ 

that  short,  autumn  day.  How  often  in  voyaging  back  and  forth  we 
had  admired  that  wonderful  skyline!  always  grand  and  impressive 
whether  seen  through  mist  and  rain;  standing  out  against  a  clear, 
blue  sky,  or  in  early  evening  like  the  vision  of  beauty  that  greeted  us 
on  our  last  home-coming! 

"O  love!  we  two  shall  go  no  longer 
To  lands  of  summer  across  the  sea." 

We  were  both  very  happy  to  be  again  within  the  family  circle, 
and  our  Dear  Ones  so  glad  to  have  us.  What  a  surprise  we  gave 
them,  and  what  a  welcome  they  gave  us,  coming  upon  them  almost  as 
though  we  had  dropped  from  out  the  very  skies. 

You  were  so  cheerful,  and  apparently  so  well;  but  we  rather 
dreaded  the  rigors  of  an  Eastern  winter,  and  in  December,  promising 
to  be  back  for  the  summer,  we  left  New  York  and  went  to  Southern 
California.    And  there! — and  then! — 


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iiniiiiniiitiiiiiniiiHiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiniiinMiiiiiniiMniiiMinniiriiiiiniiinmiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiniiinimiHHiiinniimininiinniiiiiiiiiiHMMtiiininimitnniii^ 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

iiiiiniiiininniiMiiiHiimiiiiiiMiiiiiiiMMiinininiHiniiiMiniiMiiiiiiiiiitiiininiHmiiiHiiiimiiuiiininiiiiiuiHiiiMuuinmHiiiniuiiHiMiinuininniHimiiiiininiiiiimiimiuiniiiu 


PART  SIX 

FONDLY  and  sadly  I  linger  with  you,  my  Beloved,  over  my 
manuscript  while  yet  it  is  my  very  own.  Put  between  the  two 
covers  of  a  book,  these  lines  and  pages  will  be  mine  no  more; 
— these  lines  and  pages  that  have  kept  you  so  near  to  me  that  I 
cannot  bear  to  give  them  up. 

"You  have  a  treasure-house  of  happy  memories  richer  than  those 
of  any  woman  I  have  ever  known."  Thus  wrote  a  friend  when  she 
learned  that  you  had  left  me ; — gone  away ; — 

"Taken  the  stars  from  the  night;  the  sun  from  the  day," 

and  left  me  alone  with  my  memories.  My  Memories!  the  precious 
possessions  of  my  heart !  They  come  like  a  breath  of  air  from  a  van- 
ished World!  They  lie  before  me  like  the  clear,  fresh  pages  of  an 
open  book !  They  bring  back  for  a  fleeting  moment  now  and  then  the 
old  feeling  that  life  was  such  a  beautiful  thing!  They  bring  the 
reflected  shadow  of  a  joy  that  once  was  mine!  They  come  from 
recent  years  and  from  the  far  ofl"  past !  They  come  from  foreign  and 
from  native  lands!  and  often,  oh,  so  often  from  the  dear,  old  home; 
the  orchard  trees,  and  the  garden  with  its  roses  ....  and  then!  the 
day,  when, 

"Alone  in  that  garden  I  walked  in  my  pain, 
O  bloom  again  roses!  O  love  come  again; 
Come  back,  my  Beloved,  I  cried — but  in  vain. 
Ah  never — ^no,  never." 


That  old  place!  not  another  like  it  in  all  the  wide,  wide  World; 
and  the  old,  old-fashioned  house!  with  its  traditions  and  associations. 
The  rooms,  individualized  by  family  history  and  humanized  by  family 
joys  and  sorrows; — ^^"the  roofs  that  heard  the  earliest  cry"  of  six 
generations ; — 

"Today 
The  old  house  wears  an  altered  face 
And  shields  a  stranger  race," 

and  the  broad  acres  that  only  the  red  mens'  feet  had  trod  when  they 
came  into  possession  of  our  ancestors  are  ours  no  longer.    It  is  better 

Page  Two  Hundred  Ninety 


.iiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiHMiiiiMiiniiiiuiiiiinininiinniiiiinHiiiniinniiHiMiiMiMniiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiniinniiniiiiiiiniiiiiiiiitiinHiiiiiiiriniH 

MEMORIES       —       SOME       OF       MANY 

■iiiiiuniuiniinuHiiiMiHniniiMiniiinHniiMiiuiiiniNiiiiuinininimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiminiuniuMiiiiuiiiHnfinniiiiiiiinniiiiniiniiHiHiiiHninHtiHiiniiiHMniininHiiiiniii^ 

SO,  since  the  changes  wrought  by  Time  had  robbed  the  place  of  all 
that  made  it  dear,  and  left  the  old  house  lonely  and  forlorn;  yet  sad- 
ness and  regret  will  come  at  parting  with  what  one  day  made  for  so 
much  happiness. 


What  I  have  written  "is  but  a  bubble  on  the  stream,  and  al- 
though it  may  catch  the  sunlight  for  a  moment,  yet  it  will  soon  float 
down  the  swift-rushing  current  and  be  seen  no  more;"  but  if,  my 
Beloved,  it  helps  to  keep  your  memory  green,  it  will  not  have  been 
written  in  vain. 

It  has  been  to  me  comfort  and  consolation.  It  has  often  brought 
to  my  lonely  heart  the  sensation  of  your  invisible  presence. 

It  has  many  times  driven  away, 

"The  sullen  winds  that  blow 
From  the  desolate  shores  of  doubt." 

And  when  I  go  forward  to  that  final  and  unknown  land,  where  all 
the  longing  and  yearning  of  this  mortal  life  will  be  quieted,  and  all 
the  mystery  of  the  life  immortal  solved; — with  implicit  faith  in  the 
words  of  our  Saviour,  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you; — There, 
Heart  of  my  Heart  and  Soul  of  my  Soul, 

"The  long,  lone  sorrow  past 
I  shall  find  thee  at  last. 
Sorrow  past 
Thee  at  last." 


Page  Two  Hundred  Ninety-one 


^«^CH  BORROWED 
^«  book  is  du 


(Bl39s22)476 


^D  0/94 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


